


Harry Muthafuckin Potter and the philosopherz stone

by goldenlaurels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Deliberate Badfic, Gizoogle, Pimp McGonagall, Strong Language, Trash Fic, death mention, gizoogled, trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-02-16 22:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13063263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenlaurels/pseuds/goldenlaurels
Summary: It aint nuthin but Harry Potta n' tha philosopherz stone just ran it all up in gizoogle. Literally every last muthafuckin thang is tha same, I just thought it would be funky.A breeze ruffled tha neat hedgez of Privet Drive, which lay silent n' tidy under tha inky sky, tha straight-up last place you would expect astonishin thangs ta happen. Harry Potta rolled over inside his blankets without wakin up. One lil' small-ass hand closed on tha letta beside his ass n' da muthafucka slept on, not knowin da thug was special, not knowin da thug was famous, not knowin da thug would be woken up in all dem hours' time by Mrs. Dursleyz scream as she opened tha front door ta put out tha gin n juice bottles, nor dat da thug would spend tha next few weeks bein prodded n' pinched by his cousin Dudley.. yo. Dude couldn't know dat at dis straight-up moment, playas meetin up in secret all over tha ghetto was holdin up they glasses n' sayin up in hushed voices: "To Harry Potta -- tha pimp who lived!"





	1. The pimp who lived

Chapta one  
The pimp who lived

Mista n' Mrs. Muthafuckin Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, was proud as a muthafucka ta say dat they was perfectly normal, fuck you straight up. They was tha last playas you'd expect ta be involved up in anythang strange or mysterious, cuz they just didn't hold wit such nonsense.  
Mista Muthafuckin Dursley was tha director of a gangbangin' firm called Grunnings, which made drills, yo. Dude was a funky-ass big, beefy playa wit hardly any neck, although da ruffneck did gotz a straight-up big-ass mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin n' blonde n' had nearly twice tha usual amount of neck, which came in straight-up useful as her dope ass dropped so much of her time cranin over garden fences, spyin on tha neighbors. Da Dursleys had a lil' small-ass lil hustla called Dudley n' up in they opinion there was no finer pimp anywhere.

Da Dursleys had every last muthafuckin thang they wanted yo, but they also had a secret, n' they top billin fear was dat some muthafucka would discover dat shit. They didn't be thinkin they could bear it if they playas found out bout tha Potters. Mrs.Potta was Mrs. Dursleyz sista yo, but they hadn't kicked it wit fo' nuff muthafuckin years;  
in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended her dope ass didn't gotz a sister, cuz her sista n' her good-for-nothang homeboy was as unDursleyish as dat shiznit was possible ta be. Da Dursleys shuddered ta be thinkin what tha fuck tha neighbors would say if tha Pottas arrived up in tha street. Da Dursleys knew dat tha Pottas had a lil' small-ass son, too, but they had never even peeped his muthafuckin ass. This pimp was another phat reason ta keepin tha Pottas away; they didn't want Dudley mixin wit a cold-ass lil pimp like dat n' like dis n' like dat y'all.

When Mista Muthafuckin n' Mrs. Dursley raised up on tha dull, gray Tuesdizzle our rap starts, there was not a god damn thang bout tha cloudy sky outside ta suggest dat strange n' mysterious thangs would soon be goin' down all over tha ghetto. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley hummed as he picked up his crazy-ass most borin tie fo' work, n' Mrs. Dursley ghetto hyped away happily as dat biiiiatch wrestled a beatboxin Dudley tha fuck into his high chair. 

None of dem noticed a large, tawny owl flutta past tha window.

At half past eight, Mista Muthafuckin Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs.Dursley on tha cheek, n' tried ta lick Dudley good-bye but missed, cuz Dudley was now havin a tantrum n' throwin his cereal all up in tha walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mista Muthafuckin Dursley as he left tha crib yo. Dude gots tha fuck into his hoopty n' backed outta number fourz drive.

Dat shiznit was on tha corner of tha street dat he noticed tha straight-up original gangsta sign of suttin' peculiar -- a cold-ass lil pussaaaaay readin a map. For a second, Mista Muthafuckin Dursley didn't realize what tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka done peeped -- then he jerked his head round ta look again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. There was a pussaaaaay standin on tha corner of Privet Drive yo, but there wasn't a map up in sight. What could dat schmoooove muthafucka done been thankin of, biatch? It must done been a trick of tha light. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley blinked n' stared all up in tha cat. Well shiiiit, it stared back fo' realz. As Mista Muthafuckin Dursley drove round tha corner n' up tha road, he peeped tha pussaaaaay up in his crazy-ass mirror. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Dat shiznit was now readin tha sign dat holla'd Privet Drive -- no, lookin all up in tha sign; pussies couldn't read maps or signs. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley gave his dirty ass a lil shake n' put tha pussaaaaay outta his crazy-ass mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! As da ruffneck drove toward hood tha pimpin' muthafucka thought of not a god damn thang except a big-ass order of drills da thug was hopin ta git dat day.

But on tha edge of town, drills was driven outta his crazy-ass mind by suttin' else fo' realz. As da perved-out muthafucka sat up in tha usual mornin traffic jam, his schmoooove ass couldn't help noticin dat there seemed ta be a shitload of strangely dressed playas about. Muthafuckas up in cloaks. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley couldn't bear playas whoz ass dressed up in funky threadz -- tha getups you saw on lil' playas, biaaatch! Dude supposed dis was some wack freshly smoked up fashion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude drummed his wild lil' fingers on tha steerin wheel n' his wild lil' fuckin eyes fell tha fuck on a huddle of these weirdos standin close by. They was whisperin excitedly together n' shit. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley was enraged ta peep dat a cold-ass lil couple dem weren't lil' at all; why, dat playa had ta be olda than da thug was, n' bustin an emerald-chronic cloak! Da nerve of him! But then it struck Mista Muthafuckin Dursley dat dis was probably some wack-ass stunt -- these playas was obviously collectin fo' something... fo'sho, dat would be da shit. Da traffic moved on n' all dem minutes later, Mista Muthafuckin Dursley arrived up in tha Grunnings parkin lot, his crazy-ass mind back on drills.

Mista Muthafuckin Dursley always sat wit his back ta tha window up in his crib on tha ninth floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. If dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't, he might have found it harder ta concentrate on drills dat mornin yo. Dude didn't peep tha owls swoopin past up in broad daylight, though playas up in tha street did; they pointed n' gazed open- grilled as owl afta owl sped overhead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Most of dem had never peeped a owl even at nighttime. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free mornin yo. Dude yelled at five different playas yo. Dude made nuff muthafuckin blingin telephone calls n' shouted a lil' bit mo' n' mo' n' mo' yo. Dude was up in a straight-up phat vibe until lunchtime, when tha pimpin' muthafucka thought he'd stretch his hairy-ass legs n' strutt across tha road ta loot his dirty ass a funky-ass bun from tha bakery.

He’d forgotten all bout tha playas up in cloaks until he passed a crew of dem next ta tha baker’s yo. Dude eyed dem angrily as he passed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude didn’t know why yo, but they made his ass uneasy. This bunch was whisperin excitedly, too, n' his schmoooove ass couldn’t peep a single collectin tin. Dat shiznit was on his way back past them, clutchin a big-ass doughnut up in a funky-ass bag, dat his schmoooove ass caught all dem lyrics of what tha fuck they was saying.

"Da Potters, that’s right, that’s what tha fuck I heard-"

"-yes, they son, Harry-"

Mista Muthafuckin Dursley stopped dead as fuckin fried chicken. Fear flooded his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude looked back all up in tha whisperers as if da thug wanted ta say suttin' ta dem yo, but thought betta of dat shit.

Dude dashed back across tha road, hurried up ta his office, snapped at his secretary not ta disturb him, seized his cold-ass telephone, n' had almost finished dialin his crib number when he chizzeled his mind. Dude put tha receiver back down n' stroked his crazy-ass mustache, thinking... no, da thug was bein fuckin wack. Potta wasn't such a unusual name, yo. Dude was shizzle there was fuckin shitloadz of playas called Potta whoz ass had a lil hustla called Harry. Come ta be thinkin of it, da thug wasn't even shizzle his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even peeped tha boy. Well shiiiit, it might done been Harvey. Or Harold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! There was no point up in worryin Mrs. Dursley; she always gots so upset at any mention of her sista n' shiznit yo. Dude didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sista like dis n' like dat y'all... but all tha same, dem playas up in cloaks...

Dude found it a shitload harder ta concentrate on drills dat afternoon n' when he left tha buildin at five o'clock, da thug was still so worried dat da thug strutted straight tha fuck into one of mah thugs just outside tha door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as tha tiny oldschool playa stumbled n' almost fell. Dat shiznit was all dem secondz before Mista Muthafuckin Dursley realized dat tha playa was bustin a violet cloak. Dude didn't seem at all upset at bein almost knocked ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shits on tha contrary, his wild lil' grill split tha fuck into a wide smile n' da perved-out muthafucka holla'd up in a squeaky voice dat made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, mah dear sir, fo' not a god damn thang could upset me todizzle dawwwwg! Rejoice, fo' You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck has gone at last! Even Mugglez like yo ass should be celebrating, dis happy, aiiight day!"

And tha oldschool playa hugged Mista Muthafuckin Dursley round tha middle n' strutted off. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley stood rooted ta tha spot yo. Dude had been hugged by a cold-ass complete stranger n' shiznit yo. Dude also thought dat schmoooove muthafucka had done called him a Muggle, whatever dat shit was. Dude was rattled. Dude hurried ta his hoopty n' set off fo' home, hopin da thug was imaginin thangs, which dat schmoooove muthafucka had never hoped before, cuz da ruffneck didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled tha fuck into tha driveway of number four, tha straight-up original gangsta da perved-out muthafucka saw -- n' it didn't improve his crazy-ass vibe -- was tha pussaaaaay he'd spotted dat morning. Dat shiznit was now chillin on his wild lil' freakadelic garden wall yo. Dude was shizzle dat shiznit was tha same ol' dirty one; it had tha same markings round its eyes.

"Shoo!" holla'd Mista Muthafuckin Dursley loudly. Da pussaaaaay didn't move. Well shiiiit, it just gave his ass a stern look. Was dis aiiight pussaaaaay behavior? Mista Muthafuckin Dursley wondered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Tryin ta pull his dirty ass together, he let his ass tha fuck into tha crib. Dude was still determined not ta mention anythang ta his hoe. 

Mrs. Dursley had had a sick, aiiight day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Biatch holla'd at his ass over dinner all bout Mrs. Next Doorz problems wit her daughta n' how tha fuck Dudley had hustled a freshly smoked up word ("Won't!"). Mista Muthafuckin Dursley tried ta act normally. When Dudley had been put ta bed, da thug went tha fuck into tha livin room up in time ta catch tha last report on tha evenin news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported dat tha nationz owls done been behavin straight-up unusually todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! Although owls normally hunt at night n' is hardly eva peeped up in daylight, there done been hundredz of sightingz of these birdz flyin up in every last muthafuckin direction since sunrise. Experts is unable ta explain why tha owls have suddenly chizzled they chillin pattern." Da newscasta allowed his dirty ass a grin. "Most mysterious fo' sho. And now, over ta Jim McGuffin wit tha drizzle n' shit. Goin ta be any mo' showerz of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," holla'd tha weatherman, "I don't give a fuck bout dat yo, but it aint only tha owls dat done been actin oddly todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, n' Dundee been phonin up in here ta tell me dat instead of tha drizzle I promised yesterday, they've had a thugged-out downpour of blastin stars muthafucka! Perhaps playas done been biggin' up Bonfire Night early -- it aint until next week, muthafucka! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mista Muthafuckin Dursley sat frozen up in his thugged-out armchair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shootin stars all over Britain, biatch? Owls flyin by daylight, biatch? Mysterious playas up in cloaks all over tha place, biatch? And a whisper, a whisper bout tha Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came tha fuck into tha livin room carryin two cupz of tea. Dat shiznit was no good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! He'd gotta say suttin' ta her n' shiznit. Dude cleared his cold-ass throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you aint heard from yo' sista lately, have yo slick ass?"

As dat schmoooove muthafucka had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked n' mad salty fo' realz. Afta all, they normally pretended her dope ass didn't gotz a sister.

"No," her big-ass booty holla'd sharply. "Why?"

"Funny shiznit on tha hype," Mista Muthafuckin Dursley mumbled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Owls... blastin stars... n' there was a shitload of funky-lookin playas up in hood todizzle..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... dat shiznit was suttin' ta do with... you know... her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her chronic all up in pursed lips. Mista Muthafuckin Dursley wondered whether da ruffneck dared tell her he'd heard tha name "Potter." Dude decided he didn't give a fuck. Instead da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, as casually as his schmoooove ass could, "Their lil hustla -- he'd be bout Dudleyz age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," holla'd Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"Whatz his name again, biatch? Howard, aint it?"

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask mah crazy-ass."

"Oh, fo'sho," holla'd Mista Muthafuckin Dursley, his thugged-out ass sinkin horribly. "Yes, I wanna bust a nut n agree."

Dude didn't say another word on tha subject as they went upstairs ta bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! While Mrs. Dursley was up in tha bathroom, Mista Muthafuckin Dursley crept ta tha bedroom window n' peered down tha fuck into tha front garden. Da pussaaaaay was still there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Dat shiznit was starin down Privet Drive as though it was waitin fo' something.

Was he imaginin thangs, biatch? Could all dis have anythang ta do wit tha Potters? If it done did... if it gots up dat they was related ta a pair of -- well, da ruffneck ain't be thinkin his schmoooove ass could bear dat shit.

Da Dursleys gots tha fuck into bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Mrs. Dursley fell tha fuck asleep quickly but Mista Muthafuckin Dursley lay awake, turnin all dat shiznit over up in his crazy-ass mind. His last, comfortin thought before he fell tha fuck asleep was dat even if tha Pottas was involved, there was no reason fo' dem ta come near his ass n' Mrs. Dursley. Da Pottas knew straight-up well what tha fuck he n' Petunia thought bout dem n' they kind... yo. Dude couldn't peep how tha fuck he n' Petunia could git mixed up in anythang dat might be goin on -- he yawned n' turned over -- it couldn't affect dem wild-ass muthafuckas....

How straight tha fuck up wack the thug was.

Mista Muthafuckin Dursley might done been driftin tha fuck into a uneasy chill yo, but tha pussaaaaay on tha wall outside was showin no sign of chilliness. Dat shiznit was sittin as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on tha far corner of Privet Drive. Well shiiiit, it didn't so much as quiver when a cold-ass lil hoopty door slammed on tha next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, dat shiznit was nearly midnight before tha pussaaaaay moved at all.

A playa rocked up on tha corner tha pussaaaaay had been watching, rocked up so suddenly n' silently you'd have thought he'd just popped outta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da catz tail twitched n' its eyes narrowed.

Nothang like dis playa had eva been peeped on Privet Drive yo. Dude was tall, thin, n' straight-up old, judgin by tha silver of his afro n' beard, which was both long enough ta tuck tha fuck into his belt yo. Dude was bustin long robes, a purple cloak dat swept tha ground, n' high-heeled, buckled boots yo. His blue eyes was light, bright, n' sparklin behind half-moon spectaclez n' his nozzle was straight-up long n' crooked, as though it had been fucked up at least twice. This manz name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem ta realize dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had just arrived up in a street where every last muthafuckin thang from his name ta his boots was unwelcome yo. Dude was busy as a muthafucka rummagin up in his cloak, lookin fo' something. But da ruffneck did seem ta realize da thug was bein peeped it, cuz he looked up suddenly all up in tha cat, which was still starin at his ass from tha other end of tha street. For some reason, tha sight of tha pussaaaaay seemed ta amuse his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude chuckled n' muttered, "I should have known."

Dude found what tha fuck da thug was lookin fo' up in his muthafuckin inside pocket. Well shiiiit, it seemed ta be a silver blunt lighter n' shiznit yo. Dude flicked it open, held it up in tha air, n' clicked dat shit. Da nearest street lamp went up wit a lil pop yo. Dude clicked it again n' again n' again -- tha next lamp flickered tha fuck into darkness. Twelve times his schmoooove ass clicked tha Put-Outer, until tha only lights left on tha whole street was two tiny pinpricks up in tha distance, which was tha eyez of tha pussaaaaay watchin his muthafuckin ass. If mah playas looked outta they window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able ta peep anythang dat was goin' down on tha pavement. Dumbledore slipped tha Put-Outa back inside his cloak n' set off down tha street toward number four, where da perved-out muthafuckin thug sat down on tha wall next ta tha pussaaaaay. Dude didn't peep it yo, but afta a moment da muthafucka was rappin ta dat shit.

"Fancy seein you here, Pimp McGonagall."

Dude turned ta smile all up at tha tabby, but it had gone. Instead da thug was smilin at a rather severe-lookin biatch whoz ass was bustin square glasses exactly tha shape of tha markings tha pussaaaaay had round its eyes. She, too, was bustin a cold-ass lil cloak, an emerald one yo. Her black afro was drawn tha fuck into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How tha fuck did you know dat shiznit was me, son?" she asked.

"My fuckin dear Professor, I 've never peeped a cold-ass lil pussaaaaay sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been chillin on a funky-ass brick wall all day," holla'd Pimp McGonagall.

"All day, biatch? When you could done been celebrating? I must have passed a thugged-out dozen feasts n' partizzles on mah way here."

Pimp McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh fo'sho, everyonez celebrating, all right," her big-ass booty holla'd impatiently. "You'd be thinkin they'd be a lil' bit mo' careful yo, but no -- even tha Mugglez have noticed somethingz goin on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was on they news." Biatch jerked her head back all up in tha Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard dat shit. Flockz of owls... blastin stars.... Well, they not straight-up fuckin wack. They was bound ta notice something. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shootin stars all up in Kent -- I is bout ta bet dat was Dedalus Diggle yo. Dude never had much sense."

"Yo ass can't blame them," holla'd Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious lil ta big-up fo' eleven years."

"I know that," holla'd Pimp McGonagall irritably. "But thatz no reason ta lose our heads. Muthafuckas is bein downright careless, up on tha streets up in broad daylight, not even dressed up in Muggle clothes, swappin rumors."

Bitch threw a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sideways glizzle at Dumbledore here, as though hopin da thug was goin ta tell her somethang yo, but da ruffneck didn't, so dat biiiiatch went on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "A fine thang it would be if, on tha straight-up dizzle YouKnow-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck seems ta have disappeared at last, tha Mugglez found out bout our asses. I suppose he is straight-up gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," holla'd Dumbledore. "Our thugged-out asses have much ta be thankful for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Would you care fo' a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle dope I be rather fond of"

"Fuck dat shit, fuck you," holla'd Pimp McGonagall coldly, as though her dope ass didn't be thinkin dis was tha moment fo' lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck has gone -"

"My fuckin dear Professor, surely a sensible thug like yo ass can call his ass by his name, biatch? All dis 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- fo' eleven muthafuckin years I done been tryin ta persuade playas ta booty-call his ass by his thugged-out lil' proper name: Voldemort." Pimp McGonagall flinched yo, but Dumbledore, whoz ass was unstickin two lemon drops, seemed not ta notice. "It all gets so confusin if we keep sayin 'You-Know-Who.' I aint NEVER peeped any reason ta be frightened of sayin Voldemortz name.

"I know you haven 't", holla'd Pimp McGonagall, soundin half exasperated, half admiring. "But you different. Everyone knows you tha only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"Yo ass flatta me," holla'd Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I aint NEVER gonna have."

"Only cuz you too -- well -- noble ta use dem wild-ass muthafuckas."

"It aint nuthin but dirty itz dark. I aint blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey holla'd at mah crazy ass she was horny bout mah freshly smoked up earmuffs." 

Pimp McGonagall blasted a dirty-ass sharp peep Dumbledore n' holla'd, "Da owls aint a god damn thang next ta tha rumors dat is flyin around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo ass know what tha fuck everyonez saying, biatch? Bout why da ruffneck disappeared, biatch? Bout what tha fuck finally stopped him?"

It seemed dat Pimp McGonagall had reached tha point dat biiiiatch was most anxious ta discuss, tha real reason dat freaky biatch had been waitin on a cold-ass lil wall all day, fo' neither as a cold-ass lil pussaaaaay nor as a biatch had she fixed Dumbledore wit such a piercin stare as her dope ass did now, nahmeean, biatch? Dat shiznit was plain dat whatever "everyone" was saying, dat biiiiatch was not goin ta believe it until Dumbledore holla'd at her dat shiznit was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosin another lemon drop n' did not answer.

"What they saying," she pressed on, "is dat last night Voldemort turned up in Godrics Hollow yo. Dude went ta find tha Potters. Da rumor is that Lil' Willy n' Jizzy Potta is -- is -- dat they -- dead as fuckin fried chicken. Dumbledore bowed his head. Pimp McGonagall gasped.

"Lil' Willy n' James... I can't believe dat shit... I didn't wanna believe dat shit...Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached up n' patted her on tha shoulder n' shit. "I know... I know..." da perved-out muthafucka holla'd heavily.

Pimp McGonagallz voice trembled as dat biiiiatch went on. "Thatz not all. They're sayin tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta bust a cap up in tha Potterz son, Harry. But -- he couldn't yo. Dude couldn't bust a cap up in dat lil boy. No one knows why, or how, but they sayin dat when his schmoooove ass couldn't bust a cap up in Larry Potsmoker, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- n' thatz why he gone. Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It aint nuthin but -- itz true?" faltered Pimp McGonagall. "Afta all he's done... all tha playas he capped... his schmoooove ass couldn't bust a cap up in a lil boy? It aint nuthin but just astounding... of all tha thangs ta stop his muthafuckin ass... but how tha fuck up in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," holla'd Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Pimp McGonagall pulled up a lace handkerchizzle n' dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a pimped out sniff as tha pimpin' muthafucka took a golden peep from his thugged-out lil' pocket n' examined dat shit. Dat shiznit was a straight-up odd watch. It had twelve handz but no numbers; instead, lil hoodz was moving around tha edge. Well shiiiit, it must have made sense ta Dumbledore, though, cuz he put it back up in his thugged-out lil' pocket n' holla'd, "Hagridz late. I suppose it was he whoz ass holla'd at you I'd be here, by tha way?"

"Yes," holla'd Pimp McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you goin to tell me why you here, of all places?"

"I've come ta brang Harry ta his thugged-out aunt n' uncle. They're tha only crew he has left now, nahmeean?"

"Yo ass don't mean -- you can't mean tha playas whoz ass live here?" cried Pimp McGonagall, jumpin ta her feet n' pointin at number four. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I been watchin dem all day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Yo ass couldn't find two playas whoz ass is less like our asses fo' realz. And they've gots dis lil hustla -- I saw his ass kickin his crazy-ass mutha all tha way up tha street, beatboxin fo' dopes yo. Harry Potta come n' live here!"

"It aint nuthin but tha dopest place fo' him," holla'd Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt n' uncle is ghon be able ta explain every last muthafuckin thang ta his ass when he olda n' shit. Ya Momma shoulda told ya, I freestyled dem a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Pimp McGonagall faintly, chillin back down on tha wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you be thinkin you can explain all dis up in a letter, biatch? These playas aint NEVER gonna KNOW him! Dude bout ta be hyped -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if todizzle was known as Harry Potta dizzle up in tha future -- there is ghon be books freestyled bout Harry -- every last muthafuckin lil pimp up in our ghetto will know his name!"

"Exactly," holla'd Dumbledore, lookin straight-up seriously over tha top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough ta turn any boyz head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hyped before his schmoooove ass can strutt n' talk! Hyped fo' suttin' da thug won't even remember playa! Can you peep how tha fuck much betta off he'll be, growin up away from all dat until he locked n loaded ta take it?"

Pimp McGonagall opened her grill, chizzled her mind, swallowed, n' then holla'd, "Yes yes y'all, -- fo'sho, you right, of course. But how tha fuck is tha pimp gettin here, Dumbledore?" Biatch eyed his cloak suddenly as though dat dunkadelic hoe thought he might be hidin Harry underneath dat shit.

"Hagridz brangin his muthafuckin ass."

"Yo ass be thinkin it -- wise -- ta trust Hagrid wit suttin' as blingin as this?"

I would trust Hagrid wit mah game," holla'd Dumbledore.

"I aint sayin his thugged-out ass aint up in tha right place," holla'd Pimp McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he not careless yo. Dude do tend ta -- what tha fuck was that?"

A low rumblin sound had fucked up tha silence round dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Well shiiiit, it grew steadily louder as they looked up n' down tha street fo' some sign of a headlight; it swelled ta a roar as they both looked up all up in tha sky -- n' a big-ass motorcycle fell tha fuck outta tha air n' landed on tha road up in front of dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

If tha motorcycle was huge, dat shiznit was not a god damn thang ta tha playa chillin astride it yo. Dude was almost twice as tall as an aiiight playa n' at least five times as wide yo. Dude looked simply too big-ass ta be allowed, n' so wild - long tanglez of bushy black afro n' beard hid most of his wild lil' face, dat schmoooove muthafucka had handz tha size of trash can lids, n' his wild lil' feet up in they leather boots was like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms da thug was holdin a funky-ass bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," holla'd Dumbledore, soundin relieved. "At last fo' realz. And where did you git dat motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Pimp Dumbledore, sir," holla'd tha giant, climbin carefully off tha motorcycle as da perved-out muthafucka spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it ta mah dirty ass. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I gots him, sir."

"No problems, was there?"

"Fuck dat shit, sir -- doggy den was almost fucked wit yo, but I gots his ass up all right before tha Mugglez started swarmin' around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude fell tha fuck asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore n' Pimp McGonagall bent forward over tha bundle of blankets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Inside, just visible, was a funky-ass baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black afro over his wild lil' forehead they could peep a cold-ass lil curiously shaped cut, like a funky-ass bolt of lightning.

"Is dat where -?" whispered Pimp McGonagall.

"Yes," holla'd Dumbledore. "Dude bout ta have dat scar alllll muthafuckin day."

"Couldn't you do suttin' bout it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Scars can come up in handy. I have one mah dirty ass above mah left knee dat be a slick map of tha London Underground. Well -- give his ass here, Hagrid -- we'd betta git dis over with."

Dumbledore took Harry up in his thugged-out arms n' turned toward tha Dursleys' house.

"Could I -- could I say good-bye ta him, sir?" axed Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude bent his wild lil' freakadelic pimped out, shaggy head over Harry n' gave his ass what tha fuck must done been a straight-up scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let up a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Pimp McGonagall, "yo dirty ass is gonna wake tha Mugglez -"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, takin up a large, spotted handkerchizzle n' buryin his wild lil' grill up in dat shit. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lil' Willy an' Jizzy dead -- an' skanky lil Harry off ta live wit Mugglez -"

"Yes, fo'sho, itz all straight-up fucked up yo, but git a grip on yo ass, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Pimp McGonagall whispered, pattin Hagrid gingerly on tha arm as Dumbledore stepped over tha low garden wall n' strutted ta tha front door yo. Dude laid Harry gently on tha stoop, took a letta outta his cloak, tucked it inside Harryz blankets, n' then came back ta tha other two. For a gangbangin' full minute tha three of dem stood n' looked all up in tha lil bundle; Hagridz shouldaz shook, Pimp McGonagall blinked furiously, n' tha twinklin light dat probably shone from Dumbledorez eyes seemed ta have gone out.

"Well," holla'd Dumbledore finally, "thatz dis shit. We've no bidnizz stayin here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. We may as well go n' join tha celebrations."

"Yeah," holla'd Hagrid up in a straight-up muffled voice, "I be bout ta be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Pimp McGonagall -- Pimp Dumbledore, sir."

Wipin his streamin eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung his dirty ass onto tha motorcycle n' kicked tha engine tha fuck into game; wit a roar it rose tha fuck into tha air n' off tha fuck into tha night.

"I shall peep you soon, I expect, Pimp McGonagall," holla'd Dumbledore, noddin ta her n' shit. Pimp McGonagall blew her nozzle up in reply.

Dumbledore turned n' strutted back down tha street. On tha corner da perved-out muthafucka stopped n' took up tha silver Put-Outer n' shiznit yo. Dude clicked it once, n' twelve ballz of light sped back ta they street lamps so dat Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange n' his schmoooove ass could make up a tabby pussaaaaay slinkin round tha corner all up in tha other end of tha street yo. Dude could just peep tha bundle of blankets on tha step of number four.

"Dope luck, Harry," he murmured. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude turned on his heel n' wit a swish of his cloak, da thug was gone.

A breeze ruffled tha neat hedgez of Privet Drive, which lay silent n' tidy under tha inky sky, tha straight-up last place you would expect astonishin thangs ta happen. Harry Potta rolled over inside his blankets without wakin up. One lil' small-ass hand closed on tha letta beside his ass n' da muthafucka slept on, not knowin da thug was special, not knowin da thug was famous, not knowin da thug would be woken up in all dem hours' time by Mrs. Dursleyz scream as she opened tha front door ta put out tha gin n juice bottles, nor dat da thug would spend tha next few weeks bein prodded n' pinched by his cousin Dudley.. yo. Dude couldn't know dat at dis straight-up moment, playas meetin up in secret all over tha ghetto was holdin up they glasses n' sayin up in hushed voices: "To Harry Potta -- tha pimp who lived!"


	2. Tha vanishing glass

Nearly ten muthafuckin years had passed since tha Dursleys had woken up ta find they nephew on tha front step yo, but Privet Drive had hardly chizzled at all. Da sun rose on tha same tidy front gardens n' lit up tha brass number four on tha Dursleys' front door; it crept tha fuck into they livin room, which was almost exactly tha same as it had been on tha night when Mista Muthafuckin Dursley had peeped dat fateful shizzle report bout tha owls. Only tha photographs on tha mantelpiece straight-up flossed how tha fuck much time had passed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Ten muthafuckin years ago, there had been fuckin shitloadz of picturez of what tha fuck looked like a big-ass pink beach bizzle bustin different-colored bonnets -- but Dudley Dursley was no longer a funky-ass baby, n' now tha photographs flossed a big-ass blond pimp ridin his first wild lil' bicycle, on a cold-ass lil carousel all up in tha fair, playin a cold-ass lil computa game wit his wild lil' father, bein hugged n' busted by his crazy-ass mutha n' shit. Da room held no sign at all dat another pimp lived up in tha house, like a muthafucka.

Yet Harry Potta was still there, asleep all up in tha moment yo, but not fo' long yo. His Aunt Petunia was awake n' dat shiznit was her shrill voice dat made tha straight-up original gangsta noise of tha day.

"Up! Git up! Now!"

Harry woke wit a start yo. His aunt rapped on tha door again.

"Up!" her big-ass booty screeched. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Harry heard her struttin toward tha kitchen n' then tha sound of tha fryin pan bein put on tha stove yo. Dude rolled onto his back n' tried ta remember tha trip dat schmoooove muthafucka had been having. Well shiiiit, it had been a phat one. There had been a gangbangin' flyin motorcycle up in it yo. Dude had a gangbangin' funky feelin he'd had tha same trip before.

His aunt was back outside tha door.

"Is you up yet?" her dope ass demanded.

"Nearly," holla'd Harry.

"Well, git a move on, I want you ta look afta tha bacon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And don't you dare let it burn, I want every last muthafuckin thang slick on Duddyz birthday."

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" his thugged-out aunt snapped all up in tha door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

Dudleyz birthdizzle -- how tha fuck could dat schmoooove muthafucka have forgotten, biatch? Harry gots slowly outta bed n' started lookin fo' socks yo. Dude found a pair under his bed and, afta pullin a spider off one of them, put dem on. Harry was used ta spiders, cuz tha cupboard under tha stairs was full of them, n' dat was where da perved-out muthafucka slept.

When da thug was dressed da thug went down tha hall tha fuck into tha kitchen. Da table was almost hidden beneath all Dudleyz birthdizzle presents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Well shiiiit, it looked as though Dudley had gotten tha freshly smoked up computa da thug wanted, not ta mention tha second televizzle n' tha racin bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racin bike was a mystery ta Harry, as Dudley was straight-up fat n' hated exercise -- unless of course it involved punchin some muthafucka. Dudleyz straight-up punchin bag was Harry yo, but his schmoooove ass couldn't often catch his muthafuckin ass yo. Harry didn't look it yo, but da thug was straight-up fast.

Perhaps it had suttin' ta do wit livin up in a thugged-out dark cupboard yo, but Harry had always been lil' small-ass n' skinny fo' his thugged-out age yo. Dude looked even smalla n' skinnier than he straight-up was cuz all dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta wear was oldschool threadz of Dudley's, n' Dudley was bout four times bigger than da thug was yo. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, n' bright chronic eyes yo. Dude wore round glasses held together wit a shitload of Scotch tape cuz of all tha times Dudley had socked his ass on tha nose. Da only thang Harry was horny bout his own appearizzle was a straight-up thin scar on his wild lil' forehead dat was shaped like a funky-ass bolt of lightnin yo. Dude had had it as long as his schmoooove ass could remember, n' tha straight-up original gangsta question his schmoooove ass could eva remember askin his Aunt Petunia was how tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka had gotten dat shit.

"In tha hoopty crash when yo' muthafathas died," dat freaky freaky biatch had holla'd. "And don't ask thangs."

Don't ask thangs -- dat was tha straight-up original gangsta rule fo' a on tha down-low game wit the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered tha kitchen as Harry was turnin over tha bacon.

"Comb yo' hair!" his thugged-out lil' punk-ass barked, by way of a mornin greeting.

Bout once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over tha top of his newspaper n' shouted dat Harry needed a haircut yo. Harry must have had mo' haircuts than tha rest of tha thugs up in his class put together yo, but it made no difference, his afro simply grew dat way -- all over tha place.

Harry was fryin eggs by tha time Dudley arrived up in tha kitchen wit his crazy-ass mutha n' shit. Dudley looked a shitload like Uncle Vernon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude had a big-ass pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, n' thick blond afro dat lay smoothly on his, fat head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Aunt Petunia often holla'd dat Dudley looked like a funky-ass baby angel -- Harry often holla'd dat Dudley looked like a  
pig up in a wig.

Harry put tha platez of egg n' bacon on tha table, which was hard as fuck as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was countin his thugged-out lil' presents yo. His grill fell.

"Thirty-six," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, lookin up at his crazy-ass mutha n' daddy n' shit. "Thatz two less than last year."

"Darling, you aint counted Auntie Margez present, see, itz here under dis big-ass one from Mommy n' Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," holla'd Dudley, goin red up in tha grill yo. Harry, whoz ass could peep a big-ass Dudley tantrum comin on, fuckin started wolfin down his bacon as fast as possible up in case Dudley turned tha table over.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, cuz her big-ass booty holla'd quickly, "And we'll loot you another two presents while we up todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! Howz that, popkin, biatch? Two mo' presents, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Is dat all right?"

Dudley thought fo' a moment. Well shiiiit, it looked like hard work. Finally da perved-out muthafucka holla'd slowly, "So I be bout ta have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine, dopeums," holla'd Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily n' grabbed tha nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Little tyke wants his crazy-ass scrillaz worth, just like his wild lil' daddy n' shit. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" Dude ruffled Dudleyz hair.

At dat moment tha telephone rang n' Aunt Petunia went ta answer it while Harry n' Uncle Vernon peeped Dudley unwrap tha racin bike, a vizzle camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen freshly smoked up computa games, n' a VCR yo. Dude was rippin tha paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from tha telephone lookin both mad salty n' worried.

"Shiznitty hype, Vernon," her big-ass booty holla'd. "Mrs. Figgz fucked up her leg. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch can't take his muthafuckin ass." Biatch jerked her head up in Harryz direction.

Dudleyz grill fell tha fuck open up in horror yo, but Harryz ass gave a leap. Every year on Dudleyz birthday, his thugged-out lil' muthafathas took his ass n' a gangbangin' playa up fo' tha day, ta adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or tha pornos. Every year, Harry was left behind wit Mrs. Figg, a mad oldschool lady whoz ass lived two streets away yo. Harry hated it there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru. Da whole doggy den smelled of cabbage n' Mrs. Figg made his ass peep photographz of all tha pussies she'd eva owned.

"Now what?" holla'd Aunt Petunia, lookin furiously at Harry as though he'd planned all dis bullshit yo. Harry knew he ought ta feel sorry dat Mrs. Figg had fucked up her leg yo, but it wasn't easy as fuck when he reminded his dirty ass it would be a whole year before dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta peep Tibbles, Snowy, Mista Muthafuckin Paws, n' Tufty again.

"We could beeper Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, dat freaky biatch hates tha boy."

Da Dursleys often was rappin bout Harry like this, as though da thug wasn't there -- or rather, as though da thug was suttin' straight-up nasty dat couldn't KNOW them, like a slug.

"What bout what's-her-name, yo' playa -- Yvonne?"

"On vacation up in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"Yo ass could just leave me here," Harry put up in hopefully (he'd be able ta peep what tha fuck da thug wanted on televizzle fo' a cold-ass lil chizzle n' maybe even gotz a go on Dudleyz computer).

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon.

"And come back n' find tha doggy den up in ruins?" her big-ass booty snarled.

"I won't blow up tha house," holla'd Harry, but they weren't listening.

"I suppose we could take his ass ta tha zoo," holla'd Aunt Petunia slowly, "... n' leave his ass up in tha car...."

"That carz new, he not chillin up in it ridin' solo...."

Dudley fuckin started ta cry loudly. In fact, da thug wasn't straight-up bustin up like a biatch -- it had been muthafuckin years since he'd straight-up cried -- but he knew dat if da perved-out muthafucka screwed up his wild lil' grill n' wailed, his crazy-ass mutha would give his ass anythang da thug wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let his ass spoil yo' special day!" dat thugged-out biiiatch cried, flingin her arms round his muthafuckin ass.

"I... don't... want... his muthafuckin ass... t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "Dude always sp- spoils every last muthafuckin thang!" Dude blasted Harry a nasty grin all up in tha gap up in his crazy-ass motherz arms.

Just then, tha doorbell rang -- "Oh, phat Lord, they here!" holla'd Aunt Petunia frantically -- n' a moment later, Dudleyz dopest playa, Piers Polkiss, strutted up in wit his crazy-ass mutha n' shit. Piers was a scrawny pimp wit a gangbangin' grill like a rat yo. Dude was probably tha one whoz ass held peoplez arms behind they backs while Dudley hit dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Dudley stopped pretendin ta cry at once.

Half a minute later, Harry, whoz ass couldn't believe his fuckin luck, was chillin up in tha back of tha Dursleys' hoopty wit Piers n' Dudley, on tha way ta tha zoo fo' tha last time up in his wild lil' freakadelic game yo. His aunt n' uncle hadn't been able ta be thinkin of anythang else ta do wit his ass yo, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I be warnin you," dat schmoooove muthafucka had holla'd, puttin his big-ass purple grill right up close ta Harry's, "I be warnin you now, pimp -- any funky bidnizz, anythang at all -- n' you gonna be up in dat cupboard from now until Chrizzle-missel."

"I aint goin ta do anything," holla'd Harry, "honestly.."

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe his muthafuckin ass. No one eva done did.

Da problem was, strange thangs often happened round Harry n' dat shiznit was just no phat spittin some lyrics ta tha Dursleys da ruffneck didn't make dem happen.

Once, Aunt Petunia, pissed wit Harry comin back from tha barbers lookin as though dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't been at all, had taken a pair of kitchen scissors n' cut his afro so short da thug was almost bald except fo' his bangs, which she left "to hide dat wack scar." Dudley had laughed his dirty wack-ass at Harry, whoz ass dropped a chillless night imaginin school tha next day, where da thug was already laughed at fo' his baggy threadz n' taped glasses. Next morning, however, dat schmoooove muthafucka had gotten up ta find his afro exactly as it had been before Aunt Petunia had sheared it off Dude had been given a week up in his cupboard fo' this, even though dat schmoooove muthafucka had tried ta explain dat his schmoooove ass couldn't explain how tha fuck it had grown back so doggystyle.

Another time, Aunt Petunia had been tryin ta force his ass tha fuck into a revoltin oldschool sweata of Dudleyz (brown wit orange puff balls) -- Da harder dat dunkadelic hoe tried ta pull it over his head, tha smalla it seemed ta become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet yo, but certainly wouldn't fit Harry fo' realz. Aunt Petunia had decided it must have shrunk up in tha wash and, ta his wild lil' freakadelic pimped out relief, Harry wasn't punished.

On tha other hand, he'd gotten tha fuck into shitty shiznit fo' bein found on tha roof of tha school kitchens. Dudleyz gang had been chasin his ass as usual when, as much ta Harryz surprise as any suckas's, there da thug was chillin on tha chimney. Da Dursleys had received a straight-up mad salty letta from Harryz headmistress spittin some lyrics ta dem Harry had been climbin school buildings. But all he'd tried ta do was jump behind tha big-ass trash cans outside tha kitchen doors yo. Harry supposed dat tha wind must have caught his ass up in mid- jump.

But todizzle, not a god damn thang was goin ta go wrong. Dat shiznit was even worth smokin da sticky-icky-icky wit Dudley n' Piers ta be bustin tha dizzle somewhere dat wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs. Figgz cabbage-smellin livin room.

While da ruffneck drove, Uncle Vernon complained ta Aunt Petunia. Dude was horny bout ta diss bout thangs: playas at work, Harry, tha council, Harry, tha bank, n' Harry was just all dem of his wild lil' straight-up subjects, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. This morning, dat shiznit was motorcycles.

"... roarin along like maniacs, tha lil' hoodlums," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, as a motorcycle overtook dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

I had a thugged-out dream about a motorcycle," holla'd Harry, rememberin suddenly. "Dat shiznit was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed tha fuck into tha hoopty up in front yo. Dude turned right round up in his seat n' yelled at Harry, his wild lil' grill like a gigantic beet wit a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley n' Piers sniggered.

I know they don't," holla'd Harry. "Dat shiznit was only a thugged-out dream."

But da thug wished dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't holla'd anything. If there was one thang tha Dursleys hated even mo' than his thugged-out askin thangs, dat shiznit was his thugged-out lil' poppin' off bout anythang actin up in a way it shouldn't, no matta if dat shiznit was up in a thugged-out trip or even a cold-ass lil cartoon -- they seemed ta be thinkin he might git fucked up ideas.

Dat shiznit was a straight-up sunny Saturdizzle n' tha zoo was crowded wit crews. Da Dursleys looted Dudley n' Piers big-ass chocolate ice creams all up in tha entrizzle n' then, cuz tha smilin lady up in tha van had axed Harry what tha fuck da thug wanted before they could hurry his ass away, they looted his ass a cold-ass lil skanky lemon ice pop. Well shiiiit, it wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, lickin it as they peeped a gorilla scratchin its head whoz ass looked remarkably like Dudley, except dat it wasn't blond.

Harry had tha dopest mornin he'd had up in a long-ass time yo. Dude was careful ta strutt a lil way apart from tha Dursleys so dat Dudley n' Piers, whoz ass was startin ta git bugged out wit tha muthafuckas by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on they hobby of hittin his muthafuckin ass. They ate up in tha zoo restaurant, n' when Dudley had a tantrum cuz his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon looted his ass another one n' Harry was allowed ta finish tha first.

Harry felt, afterward, dat da perved-out muthafucka should have known dat shiznit was all too phat ta last.

Afta lunch they went ta tha reptile house. Dat shiznit was def n' dark in

there, wit lit windows all along tha walls. Behind tha glass, all sorts

of lizardz n' snakes was crawlin n' slitherin over bitz of wood n' stone. Dudley n' Piers wanted ta peep huge, poisonous cobras n' thick, man-crushin pythons. Dudley quickly found tha phattest snake up in tha place. Well shiiiit, it could have wrapped its body twice round Uncle Vernonz hoopty n' crushed it tha fuck into a trash can -- but all up in tha moment it didn't look up in tha vibe. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! In fact, dat shiznit was fast asleep.

Dudley stood wit his nozzle pressed against tha glass, starin all up in tha glistenin brown coils.

"Make it move," da thug whined at his wild lil' daddy n' shit. Uncle Vernon tapped on tha glass yo, but tha snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered. Uncle Vernon rapped tha glass smartly wit his knucklez yo, but tha snake just snoozed on.

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude shuffled away.

Harry moved up in front of tha tank n' looked intently all up in tha snake yo. Dude wouldn't done been surprised if it had took a dirt nap of boredom itself -- no company except wack playas drummin they fingers on tha glass tryin ta disturb all dat shiznit dizzle long. Dat shiznit was worse than havin a cold-ass lil cupboard as a funky-ass bedroom, where tha only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammerin on tha door ta wake you up; at least he gots ta git on over ta tha rest of tha house.

Da snake suddenly opened its beady eyes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Slowly, straight-up slowly, it raised its head until its eyes was on a level wit Harry's.

It winked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Harry stared. Then he looked quickly round ta peep if mah playas was watching. They weren't yo. Dude looked back all up in tha snake n' winked, like a muthafucka.

Da snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon n' Dudley, then raised its eyes ta tha ceiling. Well shiiiit, it gave Harry a look dat holla'd like plainly:

"I git dat all tha time."

"I know," Harry murmured all up in tha glass, though da thug wasn't shizzle tha snake could hear his muthafuckin ass. "It must be straight-up buggin."

Da snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

Da snake jabbed its tail at a lil sign next ta tha glass yo. Harry peered at dat shit.

Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it sick there?"

Da boa constrictor jabbed its tail all up in tha sign again Harry read on: This specimen was bred up in tha zoo. "Oh, I got you -- so you've never been ta Brazil?"

As tha snake shook its head, a thugged-out deafenin shout behind Harry made both of dem jump

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddlin toward dem as fast as his schmoooove ass could.

"Out of tha way, you," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, punchin Harry up in tha ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell tha fuck hard on tha concrete floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. What came next happened so fast no one saw how tha fuck it happened -- one second, Piers n' Dudley was leanin right up close ta tha glass, tha next, they had leapt back wit howlz of horror.

Harry sat up n' gasped; tha glass front of tha boa constrictorz tank had vanished. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da pimped out snake was uncoilin itself rapidly, slitherin up onto tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Muthafuckas all up in tha reptile doggy den screamed n' started hustlin fo' tha exits.

As tha snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissin voice holla'd, "Brazil, here I come.... Thanksss, amigo."

Da keeper of tha reptile doggy den was up in shock.

"But tha glass," he kept saying, "where did tha glass go?"

Da zoo director his dirty ass made Aunt Petunia a lil cup of strong, dope chronic while he apologized over n' over again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Piers n' Dudley could only gibber n' shiznit fo' realz. As far as Harry had seen, tha snake hadn't done anythang except snap playfully at they heels as it passed yo, but by tha time they was all back up in Uncle Vernonz car, Dudley was spittin some lyrics ta dem how tha fuck it had nearly bitten off his fuckin leg, while Piers was bustin that it had tried ta squeeze his ass ta dirtnap. But most shitty of all, fo' Harry at least, was Piers calmin down enough ta say, "Harry was poppin' off ta it, weren't you, Harry?"

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely outta tha doggy den before startin on Harry yo. Dude was so mad salty he could hardly drop a rhyme yo. Dude managed ta say, "Go -- cupboard -- stay -- no meals," before his schmoooove ass collapsed tha fuck into a cold-ass lil chair, n' Aunt Petunia had ta run n' git his ass a big-ass brandy.

Harry lay up in his fuckin lil' dark cupboard much later, wishin dat he had a watch yo. Dude didn't give a fuck what tha fuck time dat shiznit was n' his schmoooove ass couldn't be shizzle tha Dursleys was asleep yet. Until they were, he couldn't risk sneakin ta tha kitchen fo' some chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthafuckin day, biatch.

He'd lived wit tha Dursleys almost ten years, ten miserable years, as long as his schmoooove ass could remember, eva since he'd been a funky-ass baby n' his thugged-out lil' muthafathas had took a dirt nap up in dat hoopty crash yo. Dude couldn't remember bein up in tha hoopty when his thugged-out lil' muthafathas had died. Sometimes, when da muthafucka strained his crazy-ass memory durin long minutes up in his cupboard, his schmoooove ass came up wit a strange vision: a funky-ass blindin flash of chronic light n' a funky-ass burnin pain on his wild lil' forehead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This, da perved-out muthafucka supposed, was tha crash, though his schmoooove ass couldn't imagine where all tha chronic light came from yo. Dude couldn't remember his thugged-out lil' muthafathas at all yo. His aunt n' uncle never was rappin bout them, n' of course da thug was forbidden ta ask thangs. There was no photographz of dem up in tha house.

When dat schmoooove muthafucka had been younger, Harry had dreamed n' dreamed of some unknown relation comin ta take his ass away yo, but it had never happened; tha Dursleys was his only crew. Yet sometimes tha pimpin' muthafucka thought (or maybe hoped) dat strangers up in tha street seemed ta know his muthafuckin ass. Straight-up strange strangers they were, like a muthafucka fo' realz. A tiny playa up in a violet top basebizzle cap had bowed ta his ass once while up hustlin wit Aunt Petunia n' Dudley fo' realz. Afta askin Harry furiously if he knew tha dude, Aunt Petunia had rushed dem outta tha shop without buyin anythang fo' realz. A wild-lookin oldschool biatch dressed all up in chronic had waved merrily at his ass once on a funky-ass bus fo' realz. A bald playa up in a straight-up long purple coat had straight-up shaken his hand up in tha street tha other dizzle n' then strutted away without a word. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da weirdest thang bout all these playas was tha way they seemed ta vanish tha second Harry tried ta git a cold-ass closer look.

At school, Harry had no one. All Y'all knew dat Dudleyz gang hated dat odd Harry Potta up in his baggy oldschool threadz n' fucked up glasses, n' no muthafucka was bout ta disagree wit Dudleyz gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on some other fics right now so keep an eye out!   
> Also, it's my birthday tomorrow (28th) so leave me a comment or something! I would really appreciate it!


	3. Da letters from no one

Da escape of tha Brazilian boa constrictor gots Harry his fuckin longest-ever punishment. By tha time da thug was allowed outta his cupboard again, tha summer holidays had started n' Dudley had already fucked up his freshly smoked up vizzle camera, crashed his bangin remote control airplane, and, last time up on his racin bike, knocked down oldschool Mrs. Figg as dat thugged-out biiiatch crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

Harry was glad school was over, but there was no escapin Dudleyz gang, whoz ass hit up tha doggy den every last muthafuckin single day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, n' Gordon was all big-ass n' stupid, but as Dudley was tha freshest n' stupidest of tha lot, da thug was tha leader n' shit. Da rest of dem was all like aiiight ta join up in Dudleyz straight-up sport: Harry Hunting.

This was why Harry dropped as much time as possible outta tha house, wanderin round n' thankin bout tha end of tha holidays, where his schmoooove ass could peep a tiny ray of hope. When September came da thug would be goin off ta secondary school and, fo' tha last time up in his wild lil' freakadelic game, da thug wouldn't be wit Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernonz oldschool private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was goin there like a muthafucka too yo. Harry, on tha other hand, was goin ta Stonewall High, tha local hood school. Dudley thought dis was straight-up funky.

"They shiznit peoplez headz down tha toilet tha straight-up original gangsta dizzle at Stonewall," tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at Harry. "Want ta come upstairs n' practice?"

"Fuck dat shit, props," holla'd Harry. "Da skanky toiletz never had anythang as wack as yo' head down it -- it might git sick." Then he ran, before Dudley could work up what tha fuck he'd holla'd.

One dizzle up in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley ta London ta loot his Smeltings uniform, leavin Harry at Mrs. Figg's. Mrs. Figg wasn 't as shitty as usual. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Well shiiiit, it turned up she'd fucked up her leg trippin over one of her cats, n' her dope ass didn't seem like as fond of dem as before. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch let Harry peep televizzle n' gave his ass a lil' bit of chocolate cake dat smoked as though she'd had it fo' nuff muthafuckin years.

That evening, Dudley paraded round tha livin room fo' tha crew in his brand-new uniform. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smeltings' thugs wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, n' flat straw basebizzle caps called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used fo' hittin each other while tha mackdaddys weren't looking. This was supposed ta be phat hustlin fo' lata game.

As he looked at Dudley up in his freshly smoked up knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon holla'd gruffly dat dat shiznit was tha proudest moment of his wild lil' freakadelic game fo' realz. Aunt Petunia burst tha fuck into tears n' holla'd dat thugged-out biiiatch couldn't believe dat shiznit was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so thugged-out n' grown-up. Harry didn't trust his dirty ass ta drop a rhyme yo. Dude thought two of his bangin ribs might already have cracked from tryin not ta laugh.

There was a wack smell up in tha kitchen tha next mornin when Harry went up in fo' breakfast. Well shiiiit, it seemed ta be comin from a big-ass metal tub up in tha sink yo. Dude went ta git a look. Da tub was full of what tha fuck looked like dirty rags swimmin up in gray water.

"Whatz this?" he axed Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if da ruffneck dared ta ask a question.

"Yo crazy-ass freshly smoked up school uniform," her big-ass booty holla'd.

Harry looked up in tha bowl again.

"Oh," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "I didn't realize it had ta be all kindsa wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I be dyein a shitload of Dudleyz oldschool thangs gray fo' you, biatch. It'll look just like any suckasz when I've finished."

Harry seriously doubted dis yo, but thought it dopest not ta argue yo. Dude sat down all up in tha table n' tried not ta be thinkin bout how tha fuck da thug was goin ta look on his wild lil' first dizzle at Stonewall High -- like da thug was bustin bitz of oldschool elephant skin, probably.

Dudley n' Uncle Vernon came in, both wit wrinkled noses cuz of tha smell from Harryz freshly smoked up uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual n' Dudley banged his Smeltin stick, which his schmoooove ass carried everywhere, on tha table.

They heard tha click of tha mail slot n' flop of lettas on tha doormat.

"Git tha mail, Dudley," holla'd Uncle Vernon from behind his thugged-out lil' paper.

"Make Harry git dat shit."

"Git tha mail, Harry."

"Make Dudley git dat shit."

"Poke his ass wit yo' Smeltin stick, Dudley."

Harry dodged tha Smeltin stick n' went ta git tha mail. Three thangs lay on tha doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernonz sista Marge, whoz ass was vacationin on tha Isle of Wight, a funky-ass brown envelope dat looked like a muthafuckin bill, n' -- a letta fo' Harry.

Harry picked it up n' stared at it, his thugged-out heart twangin like a giant elastic band. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No one, ever, up in his whole game, had freestyled ta his muthafuckin ass. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck would, biatch? Dude had no playas, no other relatives -- da ruffneck didn't belong ta tha library, so he'd never even gots rude notes askin fo' books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mista Muthafuckin H. Potter  
Da Cupboard under tha Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

Da envelope was thick n' heavy, made of yellowish parchment, n' tha address was freestyled up in emerald-chronic ink. There was no stamp. Turnin tha envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearin a cold-ass lil coat of arms; a lion, a funky-ass badger, an eagle, n' a snake surroundin a big-ass letta H.

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from tha kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "What is you bustin, checkin fo' letta bombs?" Dude chuckled at his own joke.

Harry went back ta tha kitchen, still starin at his fuckin letter n' shiznit. Dude handed Uncle Vernon tha bill n' tha postcard, sat down, n' slowly started ta open tha fuckin' yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open tha bill, snorted up in disgust, n' flipped over tha postcard.

"Margez ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a gangbangin' funky whelk. --."

"Dad!" holla'd Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harryz gots something!"

Harry was on tha deal wit unfoldin his fuckin letter, which was freestyled on tha same heavy parchment as tha envelope, when dat shiznit was jerked sharply outta his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"Thatz mine!" holla'd Harry, tryin ta snatch it back.

"Who'd be freestylin ta yo whack ass?" sneered Uncle Vernon, bobbin tha letta open wit one hand n' glancin at it yo. His grill went from red ta chronic fasta than a set of traffic lights fo' realz. And it didn't stop there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Within secondz dat shiznit was tha grayish white of oldschool porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried ta grab tha letta ta read it yo, but Uncle Vernon held it high outta his bangin reach fo' realz. Aunt Petunia took it curiously n' read tha straight-up original gangsta line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch clutched her throat n' done cooked up a cold-ass lil chokin noise.

"Vernon! Oh mah goodnizz -- Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seemin ta have forgotten dat Harry n' Dudley was still up in tha room. Dudley wasn't used ta bein ignored. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude gave his wild lil' daddy a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp tap on tha head wit his Smeltin stick.

"I wanna read dat letter," da lil muthafucka holla'd loudly. 

"I wanna read it," holla'd Harry furiously, "as itz mine."

"Git out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffin tha letta back inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move.

I WANT MY LETTER!" da lilmuthafucka shouted.

"Let me peep dat shiznit son!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka took both Harry n' Dudley by tha scruffz of they necks n' threw dem tha fuck into tha hall, slammin tha kitchen door behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo yo. Harry n' Dudley promptly had a gangbangin' furious but silent fight over whoz ass would listen all up in tha keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his wild lil' freakadelic glasses danglin from one ear, lay flat on his stomach ta listen all up in tha crack between door n' floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was sayin up in a quiverin voice, "peep tha address -- how tha fuck could they possibly know where da perved-out muthafucka chills, biatch? Yo ass don't be thinkin they watchin tha house?"

"Watchin -- spyin -- might be followin us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.

"But what tha fuck should our phat asses do, biatch? Should we write back? Tell dem our phat asses don't want --"

Harry could peep Uncle Vernonz shiny black Nikes pacin up n' down tha kitchen.

"No," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd finally. "Fuck dat shit, we'll ignore dat shit. If they don't git an answer... Yes, thatz best... we won't do anything...."

"But --"

"I aint havin one up in tha house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took his thugged-out ass up in we'd stamp up dat fucked up nonsense?"

That evenin when he gots back from work, Uncle Vernon did suttin' he'd never done before; dat muthafucka hit up Harry up in his cupboard.

"Wherez mah letter?" holla'd Harry, tha moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed all up in tha door. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Whoz freestylin ta me son?"

"No one. dat shiznit was addressed ta you by mistake," holla'd Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned dat shit."

"Dat shiznit was not a mistake," holla'd Harry angrily, "it had mah cupboard on dat shit."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, n' a cold-ass lil couple spidaz fell tha fuck from tha ceilin yo. Dude took all dem deep breaths n' then forced his wild lil' grill tha fuck into a smile, which looked like painful.

"Er -- fo'sho, Harry -- bout dis cupboard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yo crazy-ass aunt n' I done been thinking... you straight-up gettin a lil' bit big-ass fo' dat shit... we be thinkin it might be sick if you moved tha fuck into Dudleyz second bedroom.

"Why?" holla'd Harry.

"Don't ask thangs!" snapped his uncle. "Take dis shiznit upstairs, now, nahmeean?"

Da Dursleys' doggy den had four bedrooms: one fo' Uncle Vernon n' Aunt Petunia, one fo' visitors (usually Uncle Vernonz sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, n' one where Dudley kept all tha toys n' thangs dat wouldn't fit tha fuck into his wild lil' first bedroom. Well shiiiit, it only took Harry one trip upstairs ta move every last muthafuckin thang he owned from tha cupboard ta dis room yo. Dude sat down on tha bed n' stared round his muthafuckin ass. Nearly every last muthafuckin thang up in here was broken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da month-old vizzle camera was lyin on top of a small, hustlin tank Dudley had once driven over tha next door neighborz dog; up in tha corner was Dudleyz first-ever televizzle set, which he'd put his wild lil' foot all up in when his wild lil' program had been straight-up canceled; there was a big-ass birdcage, which had once held a parrot dat Dudley had swapped up in dis muthafucka fo' a real air rifle, which was up on a dirty-ass shelf wit tha end all bent cuz Dudley had sat on dat shit. Other shelves was full of books. They was tha only thangs up in tha room dat looked as though they'd never been touched.

From downstairs came tha sound of Dudley bawlin at his crazy-ass mother, "I don't want his ass up in there... I need dat room... make his ass git out...." Harry sighed n' stretched up on tha bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yesterdizzle he'd have given anythang ta be up here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Todizzle he'd rather be back up in his cupboard wit dat letta than up here without dat shit.

Next mornin at breakfast, mah playas was rather on tha fuckin' down-low. Dudley was up in shock yo. He'd screamed, whacked his wild lil' daddy wit his Smeltin stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his crazy-ass mother, n' thrown his cold-ass tortoise all up in tha greenhouse roof, n' da perved-out muthafucka still didn't have his bangin room back yo. Harry was thankin bout dis time yesterdizzle n' bitterly wishin he'd opened tha letta up in tha hall. Uncle Vernon n' Aunt Petunia kept lookin at each other darkly.

When tha mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, whoz ass seemed ta be tryin ta be sick ta Harry, made Dudley go n' git dat shit. They heard his ass bangin thangs wit his Smeltin stick all tha way down tha hall. Then da perved-out muthafucka shouted, "Therez another one biaaatch! 'Mista Muthafuckin H. Potter, Da Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive --'"

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat n' ran down tha hall, Harry right behind his muthafuckin ass. Uncle Vernon had ta wrestle Dudley ta tha ground ta git tha letta from him, which was made hard as fuck by tha fact dat Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon round tha neck from behind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Afta a minute of trippin n fighting, up in which mah playas gots hit a shitload by tha Smeltin stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gaspin fo' breath, wit Harryz letta clutched up in his hand.

"Go ta yo' cupboard -- I mean, yo' bedroom," da thug wheezed at Harry. "Dudley -- go -- just go."

Harry strutted round n' round his freshly smoked up room. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Someone knew dat schmoooove muthafucka had moved outta his cupboard n' they seemed ta know dat he hadn't received his first letter n' shit. Surely dat meant they'd try again, biatch? And dis time he'd make shizzle they didn't fail yo. Dude had a plan.

Da repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock tha next mornin yo. Harry turned it off quickly n' dressed silently. Dude mustn't wake tha Dursleys. Dude stole downstairs without turnin on any of tha lights.

Dude was goin ta wait fo' tha postman on tha corner of Privet Drive n' git tha lettas fo' number four first yo. His heart hammered as his schmoooove ass crept across tha dark hall toward tha front door --

Harry leapt tha fuck into tha air; he'd trodden on suttin' big-ass n' squashy on tha doormat -- suttin' kickin it!

Lights clicked on upstairs n' ta his horror Harry realized dat tha big, squashy suttin' had been his unclez face. Uncle Vernon had been lyin all up in tha foot of tha front door up in a chillin bag, clearly makin shizzle dat Harry didn't do exactly what tha fuck he'd been tryin ta do yo. Dude shouted at Harry fo' bout half a minute n' then holla'd at his ass ta go n' cook up a lil cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off tha fuck into tha kitchen n' by tha time he gots back, tha mail had arrived, right tha fuck into Uncle Vernonz lap yo. Harry could peep three lettas addressed up in chronic ink.

I want --" his thugged-out lil' punk-ass started, but Uncle Vernon was tearin tha lettas tha fuck into pieces before his wild lil' fuckin eyes. Uncle Vernon didnt git all up in work dat day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Dude stayed up in da crib n' nailed up tha mail slot.

"See," he explained ta Aunt Petunia all up in a grillful of nails, "if they can't serve em up they'll just give up."

"I aint shizzle that'll work, Vernon."

"Oh, these peoplez mindz work up in strange ways, Petunia, they not like you n' me," holla'd Uncle Vernon, tryin ta knock up in a nail wit tha piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought his muthafuckin ass.

On Friday, no less than twelve lettas arrived fo' Harry fo' realz. As they couldn't go all up in tha mail slot they had been pushed under tha door, slotted all up in tha sides, n' all dem even forced all up in tha small-ass window up in tha downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed up in da crib again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Afta burnin all tha letters, he gots up a hammer n' nails n' boarded up tha cracks round tha front n' back doors so no one could go up yo. Dude hummed "Tiptoe Through tha Tulips" as da thug worked, n' jumped at lil' small-ass noises.

On Saturday, thangs fuckin started ta git outta hand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Twenty-four lettas ta Harry found they way tha fuck into tha house, rolled up n' hidden inside each of tha two dozen eggs dat they straight-up trippin milkman had handed Aunt Petunia all up in tha livin room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls ta tha post crib n' tha dairy tryin ta find one of mah thugs ta diss, Aunt Petunia shredded tha lettas up in her chicken processor.

"Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck on earth wants ta rap ta you dis badly?" Dudley axed Harry up in amazement.

On Sundizzle morning, Uncle Vernon sat down all up in tha breakfast table lookin chillaxed n' rather ill yo, but happy..

"No post on Sundays," he reminded dem cheerfully as da perved-out muthafucka spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn lettas todizzle --"

Somethang came whizzin down tha kitchen chimney as da perved-out muthafucka was rappin n' caught his ass sharply on tha back of tha head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Next moment, thirty or forty lettas came peltin outta tha fireplace like bullets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Da Dursleys ducked yo, but Harry leapt tha fuck into tha air tryin ta catch one.

"OUT BIATCH! OUT!"

Uncle Vernon seized Harry round tha waist n' threw his ass tha fuck into tha hall. When Aunt Petunia n' Dudley had run up wit they arms over they faces, Uncle Vernon slammed tha door shut. They could hear tha lettas still streamin tha fuck into tha room, bouncin off tha walls n' floor.

"That done it," holla'd Uncle Vernon, tryin ta drop a rhyme calmly but pullin pimped out tufts outta his crazy-ass mustache all up in tha same time. I want you all back here up in five minutes locked n loaded ta muthafuckin bounce. We goin away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"

Dude looked so fucked up wit half his crazy-ass mustache missin dat no one dared argue. Ten minutes lata they had wrenched they way all up in tha boarded-up doors n' was up in tha car, speedin toward tha highway. Dudley was snifflin up in tha back seat; his wild lil' daddy had hit his ass round tha head fo' holdin dem up while tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta pack his cold-ass televizzle, VCR, n' computa up in his game bag.

They drove fo' realz. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they was going. Every now n' then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn n' drive up in tha opposite direction fo' a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em off," da thug would mutta whenever da ruffneck did this.

They didn't stop ta smoke or drank all day. It make me wanna hollar playa! By nightfall Dudley was howlin. He'd never had such a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass dizzle up in his wild lil' freakadelic game. Dude was hungry, he'd missed five televizzle programs he'd wanted ta see, n' he'd never gone so long without blowin up an alien on his computer.

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-lookin hotel on tha outskirtz of a funky-ass big-ass hood. Dudley n' Harry shared a room wit twin bedz n' damp, musty sheets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, chillin on tha windowsill, starin at down all tha lightz of passin rides and wondering....

They ate stale cornflakes n' cold tinned tomatoes on toast fo' breakfast tha next day. It make me wanna hollar playa! They had just finished when tha balla of tha hotel came over ta they table.

"'Scuse me yo, but is one of y'all Mista Muthafuckin H. Potter, biatch? Only I gots bout a 'undred of these all up in tha front desk."

Bitch held up a letta so they could read tha chronic ink address:  
Mista Muthafuckin H. Potter  
Room 17  
Railview Hotel  
Cokeworth

Harry done cooked up a grab fo' tha letta but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand outta tha way. Da biatch stared.

"I be bout ta take them," holla'd Uncle Vernon, standin up quickly n' followin her from tha dinin room.

Wouldn't it be betta just ta bounce back ta tha doggy den, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, minutes later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem ta hear her n' shit. Exactly what tha fuck da thug was lookin for, none of dem knew. Dude drove dem tha fuck into tha middle of a gangbangin' forest, gots out, looked around, shook his head, gots back up in tha car, n' off they went again. Da same thang happened up in tha middle of a plowed field, halfway across a suspendaz bridge, n' all up in tha top of a multilevel parkin garage.

"Daddyz gone mad, aint he?" Dudley axed Aunt Petunia dully late dat afternoon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Uncle Vernon had parked all up in tha coast, locked dem all inside tha car, n' disappeared.

It started ta rain. Great drops beat on tha roof of tha car. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Dudley sniveled.

"It aint nuthin but Monday," tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at his crazy-ass mutha n' shit. "Da Great Humbertoz on tonight. I wanna stay somewhere wit a televizzle. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "

Monday. It make me wanna hollar playa! This reminded Harry of something. If dat shiznit was Mondizzle -- n' you could probably count on Dudley ta know tha minutes tha week, cuz of televizzle -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harryz eleventh birthday. It make me wanna hollar playa! Of course, his birthdays was never exactly funk -- last year, tha Dursleys had given his ass a coat hanger n' a pair of Uncle Vernonz oldschool socks. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Still, you weren't eleven every last muthafuckin day.

Uncle Vernon was back n' da thug was smilin yo. Dude was also carryin a long, thin package n' didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she axed what tha fuck he'd looted.

"Found tha slick place!" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Come on! Everyone out!"

Dat shiznit was straight-up cold outside tha car. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Uncle Vernon was pointin at what tha fuck looked like a big-ass rock way up at sea. Perched on top of tha rock was da most thugged-out miserable lil shack you could imagine. One thang was certain, there was no televizzle up in there.

"Storm forecast fo' tonight!" holla'd Uncle Vernon gleefully, clappin his handz together n' shit. "And dis gentlemanz kindly agreed ta lend our asses his boat!"

A toothless old playa came amblin up ta them, pointing, wit a rather wicked grin, at a oldschool rowboat bobbin up in tha iron-gray wata below dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"I've already gots our asses some rations," holla'd Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!" Dat shiznit was freezin up in tha boat. Icy sea spray n' drizzle crept down they necks n' a cold-ass lil chilly wind whipped they faces fo' realz. Afta what tha fuck seemed like minutes they reached tha rock, where Uncle Vernon, slippin n' sliding, hustled tha way ta tha broken-down house.

Da inside was horrible; it smelled straight fuckin of seaweed, tha wind whistled all up in tha gaps up in tha wooden walls, n' tha fireplace was damp n' empty. There was only two rooms.

Uncle Vernonz rations turned up ta be a ounce ta tha bounce of chips each n' four bananas. Dude tried ta start a gangbangin' fire but tha empty chip bags just smoked n' shriveled up.

"Could do wit a shitload of dem lettas now, eh?" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd cheerfully.

Dude was up in a straight-up phat vibe. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Obviously tha pimpin' muthafucka thought no muthafucka stood a cold-ass lil chizzle of reachin dem here up in a storm ta serve up mail. Harry privately agreed, though tha thought didn't cheer his ass up at all.

As night fell, tha promised storm blew up round dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Spray from tha high waves splattered tha wallz of tha hut n' a gangbangin' fierce wind rattled tha filthy windows fo' realz. Aunt Petunia found all dem moldy blankets up in tha second room n' made up a funky-ass bed fo' Dudley on tha moth-eaten sofa. Biatch n' Uncle Vernon went off ta tha lumpy bed next door, n' Harry was left ta find tha softest bit of floor his schmoooove ass could n' ta curl up under tha thinnest, most ragged blanket.

Da storm raged mo' n' mo' ferociously as tha night went on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Harry couldn't chill yo. Dude shivered n' turned over, tryin ta git comfortable, his stomach rumblin wit hunger n' shit. Dudleyz snores was drowned by tha low rollz of thunder dat started near midnight. Da lighted dial of Dudleyz peep it, which was danglin over tha edge of tha sofa on his wild fat lil' wrist, holla'd at Harry he'd be eleven up in ten minutes' time. Dude lay n' peeped his birthdizzle tick nearer, wonderin if tha Dursleys would remember at all, wonderin where tha letta writa was now, nahmeean?

Five minutes ta bounce tha fuck up yo. Harry heard suttin' creak outside yo. Dude hoped tha roof wasn't goin ta fall in, although he might be warma if it done did. Four minutes ta bounce tha fuck out. Maybe tha doggy den up in Privet Drive would be all kindsa full of lettas when they gots back dat he'd be able ta loot one somehow.

Three minutes ta bounce tha fuck out. Was dat tha sea, slappin hard on tha rock like that, biatch? And (two minutes ta go) what tha fuck was dat funky crunchin noise, biatch? Was tha rock crumblin tha fuck into tha sea?

One minute ta go n' he'd be eleven. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just ta annoy his ass -- three... two...one...  
BOOM.

Da whole shack shivered n' Harry sat bolt upright, starin at the  
door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Someone was outside, knockin ta come in.


	4. Da keeper of keys

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Wherez tha cannon?" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd stupidly.

There was a cold-ass lil crash behind dem n' Uncle Vernon came skiddin tha fuck into tha room. Dude was holdin a rifle up in his handz -- now they knew what tha fuck had been up in tha long, thin package dat schmoooove muthafucka had brought wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"Whoz there?" da perved-out muthafucka shouted. This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "I warn you -- I be armed!"

There was a pause. Then --

SMASH!

Da door was hit wit such force dat it swung clean off its hinges n' wit a deafenin crash landed flat on tha floor.

A giant of a playa was standin up in tha doorway. His grill was almost straight-up hidden by a long, shaggy mane of afro n' a wild, tangled beard, but you could make up his wild lil' fuckin eyes, glintin like black beetlez under all tha hair.

Da giant squeezed his way tha fuck into tha hut, stoopin so dat his head just brushed tha ceilin yo. Dude bent down, picked up tha door, n' fitted it easily back tha fuck into its frame. Da noise of tha storm outside dropped a lil yo. Dude turned ta peep dem all.

"Couldn't make our asses a lil cup o' tea, could yeh, biatch? It aint nuthin, but it aint been a fuckin' easy journey..."

Dude strode over ta tha sofa where Dudley sat frozen wit fear.

"Budge up, yeh pimped out lump," holla'd tha stranger.

Dudley squeaked n' ran ta hide behind his crazy-ass mother, whoz ass was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' herez Harry!" holla'd tha giant.

Harry looked up tha fuck into tha fierce, wild, shadowy grill n' saw dat tha beetle eyes was crinkled up in a smile.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a lil' baby," holla'd tha giant. "Yeh look a shitload like yet dad, but yeh've gots yet momz eyes."

Uncle Vernon done cooked up a gangbangin' funky raspin noise.

I demand dat you leave at once, sir!" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Yo ass is breakin n' entering!"

"Ah, shut tha fuck up, Dursley, yeh pimped out prune," holla'd tha giant; he reached over tha back of tha sofa, jerked tha glock outta Uncle Vernonz hands, bent it tha fuck into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, n' threw it tha fuck into a cold-ass lil corner of tha room.

Uncle Vernon made another funky noise, like a mouse bein trodden on.

"Anyway -- Harry," holla'd tha giant, turnin his back on tha Dursleys, "a straight-up aiiight birthdizzle ta yeh. Got summat fer yeh here -- I mighta sat on it at some point yo, but it'll taste all right."

From a inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box yo. Harry opened it wit tremblin fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake wit Bangin' Bizzledizzle Harry freestyled on it up in chronic icing.

Harry looked up all up in tha giant. Dude meant ta say fuck you yo, but tha lyrics gots lost on tha way ta his grill, n' what tha fuck da perved-out muthafucka holla'd instead was, "Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass?"

Da giant chuckled.

"True, I aint introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys n' Groundz at Hogwarts."

Dude held up a enormous hand n' shook Harryz whole arm.

"What bout dat chronic then, eh?" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, rubbin his handz together.

"I'd not say no ta summat stronger if yeh've gots it, mind."

His eyes fell tha fuck on tha empty grate wit tha shriveled chip bags up in it n' da perved-out muthafucka snorted. This type'a shiznit happens all tha time yo. Dude bent down over tha fireplace; they couldn't peep what tha fuck da thug was bustin but when da ruffneck drew back a second later, there was a roarin fire there, so peek-a-boo, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Well shiiiit, it filled tha whole damp hut wit flickerin light n' Harry felt tha warmth wash over his ass as though he'd sunk tha fuck into a funky-ass bangin' bath.

Da giant sat back down on tha sofa, which sagged under his weight, n' fuckin started takin all sortz of thangs outta tha pocketz of his coat: a cold-ass lil copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, nuff muthafuckin chipped mugs, n' a funky-ass forty of some amber liquid dat tha pimpin' muthafucka took a swig from before startin ta make tea. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon tha hut was full of tha sound n' smell of sizzlin sausage. No Muthafucka holla'd a thang while tha giant was makin moves yo, but as da perved-out muthafucka slid tha straight-up original gangsta six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from tha poker, Dudley fidgeted a lil. Uncle Vernon holla'd sharply, "Don't bust a nut on anythang he gives you, Dudley."

Da giant chuckled darkly.

"Yer pimped out puddin' of a lil hustla don' need fattenin' no mo', Dursley, don' worry."

Dude passed tha sausages ta Harry, whoz ass was so hype dat schmoooove muthafucka had never smoked anythang so wonderful yo, but da crazy-ass muthafucka still couldn't take his wild lil' fuckin eyes off tha giant. Finally, as no muthafucka seemed bout ta explain anything, he holla'd, "I be sorry yo, but I still don't straight-up know whoz ass yo ass is."

Da giant took a gulp of chronic n' wiped his grill wit tha back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "everyone do fo' realz. An' like I holla'd at yeh, I be Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts -- yeh'll know all bout Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er -- no," holla'd Harry.

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry holla'd doggystyle.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turnin ta stare all up in tha Dursleys, whoz ass shrank back tha fuck into tha shadows. "It' s dem as should be sorry dawwwwg! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer lettas but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' up loud hommie! Did yeh never wonder where yet muthafathas hustled it all?"

"All what?" axed Harry.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Now wait jus' one second!"

Dude had leapt ta his Nikes. In his thugged-out anger da perved-out muthafucka seemed ta fill tha whole hut.

Da Dursleys was cowerin against tha wall.

"Do you mean ta tell me," he growled all up in tha Dursleys, "that dis pimp -- dis pimp dawwwwg! -- knows nothin' abou' -- bout ANYTHING?"

Harry thought dis was goin a lil' bit far. Dude had been ta school, afta all, n' his marks weren't bad.

"I know some thangs," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "I can, you know, do math n' stuff." But Hagrid simply waved his hand n' holla'd, "Bout our ghetto, I mean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo crazy-ass ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! My fuckin ghetto. Yer mutha-fathas' ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass."

"What ghetto?"

Hagrid looked as if da thug was bout ta explode.

"DURSLEY!" his thugged-out punk-ass boomed.

Uncle Vernon, whoz ass had gone straight-up pale, whispered suttin' dat sounded like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.

"But yeh must know bout yer momma n' dad," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I mean, they famous. Yo ass is famous."

"What, biatch? My fuckin -- mah momma n' daddy weren't famous, was they?"

"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his wild lil' fingers all up in his hair, fixin Harry wit a funky-ass bewildered stare.

"Yeh don' know what tha fuck yeh are?" da big-ass muthafucka holla'd finally.

Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

"Stop!" his schmoooove ass commanded. "Quit right there, sit son! I forbid you ta tell tha pimp anything!"

A braver playa than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under tha furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every last muthafuckin syllable trembled wit rage.

"Yo ass never holla'd at him? Never holla'd at his ass what tha fuck was up in tha letta Dumbledore left fer him? I was there biaaatch! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley dawwwwg! An' you've kept it from his ass all these years?"

"Kept what tha fuck from me?" holla'd Harry eagerly.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon up in panic.

Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Harry -- yer a wizzle."

There was silence inside tha hut. Only tha sea n' tha whistlin wind could be heard.

"-- a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizzle, o' course," holla'd Hagrid, chillin back down on tha sofa, which groaned n' sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a funky-ass bit. With a momma an' daddy like yours, what tha fuck else would yeh be, biatch? An' I reckon itz abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Harry stretched up his hand at last ta take tha yellowish envelope, addressed up in emerald chronic ta Mista Muthafuckin yo. H. Potter, Da Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, Da Sea yo. Dude pulled up tha letta n' read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT n' WIZZLERY

 

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Internationistic Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mista Muthafuckin Potter,

We is pleased ta inform you dat you done been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft n' Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books n' shit.

Term begins on September 1. We await yo' owl by no lata than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress

Thangs blew up like a muthafucka inside Harryz head like fireworks n' his schmoooove ass couldn't decizzle which ta ask first, fo' realz. Afta all dem minutes da perved-out muthafucka stammered, "What do it mean, they await mah owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, dat remindz me," holla'd Hagrid, clappin a hand ta his wild lil' forehead wit enough force ta knock over a cold-ass lil cart horse, n' from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled a owl -- a real, live, rather ruffled-lookin owl -- a long-ass quill, n' a roll of parchment. With his cold-ass tongue between his cold-ass teeth da perved-out muthafucka scribbled a note dat Harry could read upside down:

Dear Pimp Dumbledore,

Given Harry his fuckin letter.  
Takin his ass ta loot his thangs tomorrow.  
Weatherz horrible yo. Hope you Well.  
Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up tha note, gave it ta tha owl, which clamped it up in its beak, went ta tha door, n' threw tha owl up tha fuck into tha storm. Then his schmoooove ass came back n' sat down as though dis was as aiiight as poppin' off on tha telephone.

Harry realized his crazy-ass grill was open n' closed it doggystyle.

"Where was I?" holla'd Hagrid, but at dat moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but lookin straight-up mad salty, moved tha fuck into tha firelight.

"Dat punk ain't going," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd.

Hagrid grunted.

"I'd like ta peep a pimped out Muggle like you stop him," Hagrid holla'd.

"A what?" axed Harry, interested.

"A Muggle," holla'd Hagrid, "itz what tha fuck we call nonmagic folk like dem wild-ass muthafuckas fo' realz. An' itz yo' shitty luck you grew up in a cold-ass lil crew o' tha freshest Mugglez I eva laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took his ass up in we'd put a stop ta dat rubbish," holla'd Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it outta him! Wizard indeed!"

"Yo ass knew?" holla'd Harry. "Yo ass knew I be a -- a wizzle?"  
"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a  
letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came  
home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups  
into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was -- a freak!  
But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that,  
they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed  
she had been wanting to say all this for years.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and  
had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange,  
just as -- as -- abnormal -- and then, if you please, she went and got  
herself blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown  
up? You told me they died in a car crash!"

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys  
scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an'  
James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his  
own story when every kid in our world knows his name!" "But why? What  
happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no  
idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of  
yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right  
person ter tell yeh -- but someones gotta -- yeh can't go off ter  
Hogwarts not knowin'."

He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh -- mind, I can't  
tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it...."

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It  
begins, I suppose, with -- with a person called -- but it's incredible  
yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows --"

"Who? "

"Well -- I don' like sayin' tha name if I can help dat shit. No one do."

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, playas is still trippin like a muthafucka. Blimey, dis is difficult. See, there was dis wizzle whoz ass went... bad. As shitty as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse, yo. His name was..."

Hagrid gulped, but no lyrics came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah -can't spell it fo' realz. All right -- Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, dis -- dis wizzle, bout twenty muthafuckin years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too -- some was afraid, some just wanted a lil' bit o' his thugged-out lil' power, 'cause da thug was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know whoz ass ta trust, didn't dare git thugged-out wit strange wizzlez or witches... shitty thangs happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude was takin' over n' shit. 'Course, some stood up ta his ass -- an' he capped 'em yo. Horribly. One o' tha only safe places left was Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Reckon Dumbledorez tha only one You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' tha school, not jus' then, anyway.

"Now, yer momma an' daddy was as phat a witch an' wizzle as I eva knew yo. Head pimp an' hoe at Hogwarts up in they dizzle dawwwwg! Suppose tha myst'ry is why You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch never tried ta git 'em on his side before... probably knew they was too close ta Dumbledore ta want anythin' ta do wit tha Dark Side.

"Maybe tha pimpin' muthafucka thought his schmoooove ass could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta tha way fo' realz. All mah playas knows is, tha pimpin' muthafucka turned up in tha hood where you was all living, on Halloween ten muthafuckin years ago. Yo ass was just a year old. Dude came ta yer doggy den an' -- an' --"

Hagrid suddenly pulled up a straight-up dirty, spotted handkerchizzle n' blew his nozzle wit a sound like a gangbangin' foghorn.

"Sorry," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "But itz dat fucked up -- knew yer momma an' dad, an' sickr playas yeh couldn't find -- anyway..."

"You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch capped 'em fo' realz. An' then -- an' dis is tha real myst'ry of tha thang -- tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta bust a cap up in you, like a muthafucka. Wanted ta cook up a cold-ass lil clean thang of it, I suppose, or maybe he just was cited bout killin' by then. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But his schmoooove ass couldn't do dat shit. Never wondered how tha fuck you gots dat mark on yer forehead, biatch? That was no ordinary cut. Thatz what tha fuck yeh git when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh -- took care of yer momma an' daddy an' yer house, even -- but it didn't work on you, an' thatz why yer famous, Harry. No one eva lived afta da ruffneck decided ta bust a cap up in 'em, no one except you, an' he'd capped some o' tha dopest witches an' wizzlez of tha age -- tha McKinnons, tha Bones, tha Prewetts -- an' you was only a funky-ass baby, an' you lived."

Somethang straight-up fucked up was goin on up in Harryz mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! As Hagridz rap came ta a cold-ass lil close, da perved-out muthafucka saw again n' again tha blindin flash of chronic light, mo' clearly than dat schmoooove muthafucka had eva remembered it before -- n' he remembered suttin' else, fo' tha last time up in his wild lil' freakadelic game: a high, cold-ass laugh.

Hagrid was watchin his ass sadly.

"Took yeh from tha fucked up doggy den mah dirty ass, on Dumbledorez orders. Brought yeh ta dis lot..."

"Load of oldschool tosh," holla'd Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; dat schmoooove muthafucka had almost forgotten dat tha Dursleys was there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed ta have gots back his courage yo. Dude was glarin at Hagrid n' his wild lil' fists was clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boy," da perved-out muthafucka snarled, "I accept there be a suttin' strange bout you, probably not a god damn thang a phat whoopin wouldn't have cured -- n' as fo' all dis bout yo' muthafathas, well, they was weirdos, no denyin it, n' tha ghettoz betta off without dem up in mah opinion -- axed fo' all they got, gettin mixed up wit these wizzlein types -- just what tha fuck I expected, always knew they'd come ta a sticky end --"

But at dat moment, Hagrid leapt from tha sofa n' drew a funky-ass battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointin dis at Uncle Vernon like a sword, da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "I be warnin you, Dursley -I be warnin you -- one mo' word... "

In dark shiznit of bein speared on tha end of a umbrella by a funky-ass bearded giant, Uncle Vernonz courage failed again; he flattened his dirty ass against tha wall n' fell tha fuck silent.

"Thatz better," holla'd Hagrid, breathang heavily n' chillin back down on tha sofa, which dis time sagged right down ta tha floor.

Harry, meanwhile, still had thangs ta ask, hundredz of dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"But what tha fuck happened ta Vol--, sorry -- I mean, You-Know-Who?"

"Dope question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta bust a cap up in you, biatch. Makes yeh even mo' famous. Thatz tha freshest myst'ry, see... da thug was gettin' mo' an' mo' bangin -- why'd he go?

"Some say da ruffneck died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Codswallop, up in mah opinion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dunno if dat schmoooove muthafucka had enough human left up in his ass ta take a thugged-out dirt nap. Some say da perved-out muthafucka still up there, bidin' his time, like yo, I don' believe dat shit. Muthafuckas whoz ass was on his side came back ta ours. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done it if da thug was comin' back.

"Most of our asses reckon da perved-out muthafucka still up there somewhere but lost his trill-ass lil' powers. Too weak ta carry on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 'Cause somethin' bout you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on dat night dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't counted on -- I dunno what tha fuck it was, no one do -- but somethin' bout you stumped him, all right."

Hagrid looked at Harry wit warmth n' respect blazin up in his wild lil' fuckin eyes yo, but Harry, instead of feelin pleased n' proud, felt like shit, there had been a wack mistake fo' realz. A wizzle? Him? How tha fuck could he possibly be, biatch? He'd dropped his wild lil' freakadelic game bein clouted by Dudley, n' bullied by Aunt Petunia n' Uncle Vernon; if da thug was straight-up a wizzle, why hadn't they been turned tha fuck into warty toadz every last muthafuckin time they'd tried ta lock his ass up in his cupboard, biatch? If he'd once defeated tha top billin sorcerer up in tha ghetto, how tha fuck come Dudley had always been able ta kick his ass round like a gangbangin' football?

"Hagrid," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd on tha fuckin' down-lowly, "I be thinkin you must have done cooked up a mistake. I don't be thinkin I can be a wizzle."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.

"Not a wizzle, eh, biatch? Never made thangs happen when you was scared or mad salty?"

Harry looked tha fuck into tha fire. Now he came ta be thinkin bout dat shit... every last muthafuckin odd thang dat had eva made his thugged-out aunt n' uncle furious wit his ass had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or mad salty... chased by Dudleyz gang, dat schmoooove muthafucka had somehow found his dirty ass outta they reach... dreadin goin ta school wit dat wack haircut, he'd managed ta make it grow back... n' tha straight-up last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he gots his bangin revenge, without even realizin da thug was bustin it, biatch? Hadn't da perved-out muthafucka set a cold-ass boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, n' saw dat Hagrid was positively beamin at his muthafuckin ass.

"See?" holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Larry Potsmoker, not a wizzle -- you wait, you gonna be right hyped at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't goin ta give up in without a gangbangin' fight.

"Haven't I holla'd at you he not going?" dat schmoooove muthafucka hissed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Dat punk goin ta Stonewall High n' he'll be grateful fo' dat shit. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I read dem lettas n' he needz all sortz of rubbish -- spell books n' wandz n' --"

"If da thug wants ta go, a pimped out Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Quit Lil' Willy an' Jizzy Potter' s lil hustla goin' ta Hogwarts muthafucka! Yer mad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His namez been down eva since da thug was born, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat punk off ta tha finest school of witchcraft n' wizzlery up in tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Seven muthafuckin years there n' da thug won't know his dirty ass yo. Dude bout ta be wit youngstaz of his own sort, fer a cold-ass lil chizzle, an' he'll be under tha top billin headmasta Hogwarts eva had Albus Dumbled--"

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL To TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" yelled Uncle Vernon.

But dat schmoooove muthafucka had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella n' whirled it over his head, "NEVER," tha pimpin' muthafucka thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN- FRONT- OF- ME!"

Dude brought tha umbrella swishin down all up in tha air ta point at Dudley -- there was a gangbangin' flash of violet light, a sound like a gangbangin' firecracker, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp squeal, n' tha next second, Dudley was ridin' dirty on tha spot wit his handz clasped over his wild lil' fat bottom, howlin up in pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. When tha pimpin' muthafucka turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly lil' pigz tail pokin all up in a hole up in his cold-ass trousers.

Uncle Vernon roared. Pullin Aunt Petunia n' Dudley tha fuck into tha other room, his schmoooove ass cast one last terrified peep Hagrid n' slammed tha door behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella n' stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ta turn his ass tha fuck into a pig, but I suppose da thug was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ta do."

Dude cast a sideways peep Harry under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention dat ta mah playas at Hogwarts," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "I be -- er -- not supposed ta do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ta do a lil' bit ta follow yeh an' git yer lettas ta yeh an' shiznit -- one o' tha reasons I was so keen ta take on tha thang

"Why aren't you supposed ta do magic?" axed Harry.

"Oh, well -- I was at Hogwarts meself but I -- er -- gots expelled, ta tell yeh tha real deal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. In me third year. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They snapped mah crazy ass wand up in half an' every last muthafuckin thang. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper n' shit. Great dude, Dumbledore." "Why was you expelled?"

"It aint nuthin but gettin' late n' we've gots fuckin shitloadz ta do tomorrow," holla'd Hagrid loudly. "Gotta git up ta town, git all yer books an' that."

Dude took off his cold-ass thick black coat n' threw it ta Harry.

"Yo ass can kip under that," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "Don' mind if it wrigglez a lil' bit, I be thinkin I still gots a cold-ass lil couple o' dormice up in one o' tha pockets."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't bust a nut on anythang he gives you, Dudley." would be a killer tinder bio.


	5. Diagon Alley

Harry woke early tha next mornin fo' realz. Although his schmoooove ass could tell dat shiznit was daylight, he kept his wild lil' fuckin eyes shut tight.

Dat shiznit was a dream, tha pimpin' muthafucka told himself firmly. I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came ta tell me I was goin ta a school fo' wizzles. When I open mah eyes I be bout ta be up in da crib up in mah cupboard.

There was suddenly a sharp bangin tappin noise.

And there be a Aunt Petunia knockin on tha door, Harry thought, his thugged-out ass sinking. But da perved-out muthafucka still didn't open his wild fuckin eyes. Well shiiiit, it had been such a phat dream.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I be gettin up."

Dude sat up n' Hagridz heavy coat fell tha git tha fuck off. Da hut was full of sunlight, tha storm was over, Hagrid his dirty ass was asleep on tha collapsed sofa, n' there was a owl rappin its claw on tha window, a newspaper held up in its beak.

Harry scrambled ta his wild lil' feet, so aiiight he felt as though a big-ass balloon was swellin inside his muthafuckin ass yo. Dude went straight ta tha window n' jerked it open. Da owl swooped up in n' dropped tha newspaper on top of Hagrid, whoz ass didn't wake up. Da owl then fluttered onto tha floor n' fuckin started ta battle Hagridz coat.

"Don't do that."

Harry tried ta wave tha owl outta tha way yo, but it snapped its beak fiercely at his ass n' carried on savagin tha coat.

"Hagrid!" holla'd Harry loudly. "Therez a owl

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted tha fuck into tha sofa.

"What?"

"Dude wants payin' fer deliverin' tha paper n' shit. Look up in tha pockets." Hagridz coat seemed ta be made of not a god damn thang but pockets -- bunchez of keys, slug pellets, ballz of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Harry pulled up a handful of strange-lookin coins.

"Give his ass five Knuts," holla'd Hagrid chillily.

"Knuts?"

"Da lil bronze ones."

Harry counted up five lil bronze coins, n' tha owl held up his fuckin leg so Harry could put tha scrilla tha fuck into a lil' small-ass leather pouch tied ta dat shit. Then he flew off all up in tha open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, n' stretched.

"Best be Off, Harry, fuckin shitloadz ta do todizzle, gotta git up ta London an' loot all yer shiznit fer school."

Harry was turnin over tha wizzle coins n' lookin at dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. Dude had just thought of suttin' dat made his ass feel as though tha aiiight balloon inside his ass had gots a puncture.

"Um -- Hagrid?"

"Mm?" holla'd Hagrid, who was pullin on his big-ass boots.

"I aint gots any scrilla -- n' you heard Uncle Vernon last night ... da thug won't pay fo' me ta go n' learn magic."

"Don't worry bout that," holla'd Hagrid, standin up n' scratchin his head. "D'yeh be thinkin yer muthafathas didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if they doggy den was fucked wit --"

"They didn' keep they gold up in tha house, pimp dawwwwg! Nah, first stop fer our asses is Gringotts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast Wizards' bank yo. Have a sausage, they not shitty cold -- an' I wouldn' say no teh a lil' bit o' yer birthdizzle cake, neither."

"Wizardz have banks?"

"Just tha one. Gringotts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast run by goblins."

Harry dropped tha bit of sausage da thug was holding.

"Goblins?"

"Yeah -- so yeh'd be mad ta try an' rob it, I be bout ta tell yeh dis shit. Never mess wit goblins, Harry. Gringotts is tha safest place up in tha ghetto fer anythang yeh want ta keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts fo' realz. As a matta o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore yo. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew his dirty ass up proudly. "Dude probably gets me ta do blingin shiznit fer his muthafuckin ass. Fetchin' you gettin' thangs from Gringotts -- knows his schmoooove ass can trust me, see.

"Got everythin', biatch? Come on, then."

Harry followed Hagrid up onto tha rock. Da sky was like clear now n' tha sea gleamed up in tha sunlight. Da boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, wit a shitload of wata up in tha bottom afta tha storm.

"How tha fuck did you git here?" Harry asked, lookin round fo' another boat. 

"Flew," holla'd Hagrid.

"Flew?"

"Yeah -- but we'll go back up in all dis bullshit. Not s'pposed ta use magic now I've gots yeh."

They settled down up in tha boat, Harry still starin at Hagrid, tryin ta imagine his ass flying.

"Seems a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shame ta row, though," holla'd Hagrid, givin Harry another of his sideways looks. "If I was ta -- er -- speed thangs up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," holla'd Harry, eager ta peep mo' magic. Hagrid pulled up tha pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on tha side of tha boat, n' they sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad ta try n' rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.

"Spells -- enchantments," holla'd Hagrid, unfoldin his newspaper as da perved-out muthafucka spoke. "They say there be a thugged-out dragons guardin' tha highsecuritizzle vaults fo' realz. And then yeh gotta find yer way -- Gringotts is hundredz of milez under London, see. Deep under tha Underground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yeh'd take a thugged-out dirtnap of hunger tryin' ta git out, even if yeh did manage ta git yer handz on summat."

Harry sat n' thought bout dis while Hagrid read his newspaper, tha Daily Prophet yo. Harry had hustled from Uncle Vernon dat playas was horny bout ta be left ridin' solo while they did dis yo, but dat shiznit was straight-up difficult, he'd never had all kindsa muthafuckin thangs up in his wild lil' freakadelic game.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' thangs up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turnin tha page.

"Therez a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before his schmoooove ass could stop his stupid ass.

"'Course," holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, O'course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so oldschool Cornelius Fudge gots tha thang. Bungla if eva there was one. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So he pelts Dumbledore wit owls every last muthafuckin morning, askin' fer lyrics."

"But what tha fuck do a Ministry of Magic do?"

"Well, they main thang is ta keep it from tha Mugglez dat there be a still witches an' wizzlez up an' down tha ghetto."

"Why?"

"Why, biatch? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions ta they problems. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Nah, we dopest left ridin' solo."

At dis moment tha boat bumped gently tha fuck into tha harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, n' they clambered up tha stone steps onto tha street.

Passersby stared a shitload at Hagrid as they strutted all up in tha lil hood ta tha station. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Harry couldn't blame dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as any suckas, he kept pointin at perfectly ordinary thangs like parkin metas n' sayin loudly, "See that, biatch? Things these Mugglez trip up, eh?"

"Hagrid," holla'd Harry, pantin a lil' bit as he ran ta keep up, "did you say there be dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," holla'd Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a thugged-out dragon."

"You'd like one?"

"Wanted one eva since I was a kid -- here we go."

They had reached tha station. There was a train ta London up in five minutes' time yo. Hagrid, whoz ass didn't KNOW "Muggle scrilla," as his schmoooove ass called it, gave tha bills ta Harry so his schmoooove ass could loot they tickets.

Muthafuckas stared mo' than eva on tha train. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Hagrid took up two seats n' sat knittin what tha fuck looked like a cold-ass lil canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still gots yer letter, Harry?" he axed as his schmoooove ass counted stitches yo. Harry took tha parchment envelope outta his thugged-out lil' pocket.

"Good," holla'd Hagrid."Therez a list there of every last muthafuckin thang yeh need."

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't noticed tha night before, n' read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT N' WIZZLERY

UNIFORM

First-year hustlas will require:

1\. Three setz of plain work robes (black)

2\. One plain pointed basebizzle cap (black) fo' dizzle wear

3\. One pair of protectizzle gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4\. One winta cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note dat all pupils' threadz should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All hustlas should gotz a cold-ass lil copy of each of tha following:

Da Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide ta Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs n' Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts n' Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Dunkadelic Beasts n' Where ta Find Them by Newt Scamander

Da Dark Forces: A Guide ta Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER SHIT

wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also brang a owl OR a cold-ass lil pussaaaaay OR a toad

Parents is reminded dat first year hustlas aint allowed they own broomsticks.

"Can we loot all dis up in London?" Harry wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where ta go," holla'd Hagrid.

Harry had never been ta London before fo' realz. Although Hagrid seemed ta know where da thug was going, da thug was obviously not used ta gettin there up in a ordinary way yo. Dude gots stuck up in tha ticket barrier on tha Underground, n' complained loudly dat tha seats was too lil' n' tha trains too slow.

"I don't give a fuck how tha fuck tha Mugglez manage without magic," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd as they climbed a funky-ass broken-down escalator dat hustled up ta a bustlin road lined wit shops.

Hagrid was so big-ass dat he parted tha crowd easily; all Harry had ta do was keep close behind his muthafuckin ass. They passed book shops n' noize stores, hamburger restaurants n' cinemas yo, but nowhere dat looked as if it could push you a magic wand. This was just a ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there straight-up be pilez of wizzle gold buried milez beneath them? Were there straight-up shops dat sold spell books n' broomsticks? Might dis not all be some big-ass joke dat tha Dursleys had cooked up, biatch? If Harry hadn't known dat tha Dursleys had no sense of humor, he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though every last muthafuckin thang Hagrid had holla'd at his ass so far was unbelievable, Harry couldn't help trustin his muthafuckin ass.

"This is it," holla'd Hagrid, comin ta a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It aint nuthin but a gangbangin' hyped place."

Dat shiznit was a tiny, grubby-lookin pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed dat shiznit was there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Da playas hurryin by didn't glizzle at dat shit. Their eyes slid from tha big-ass book shop on one side ta tha record shop on tha other as if they couldn't peep tha Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had da most thugged-out peculiar feelin dat only he n' Hagrid could peep dat shit. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had steered his ass inside.

For a gangbangin' hyped place, dat shiznit was straight-up dark n' shabby fo' realz. A few oldschool dem hoes was chillin up in a cold-ass lil corner, drankin tiny glassez of sherry. One of dem was tokin a long-ass pipe fo' realz. A lil playa up in a top basebizzle cap was poppin' off ta tha oldschool bartender, whoz ass was like bald n' looked like a toothless walnut. Da low buzz of chatta stopped when they strutted in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Everyone seemed ta know Hagrid; they waved n' smiled at him, n' tha bartender reached fo' a glass, saying, "Da usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I be on Hogwarts bidnizz," holla'd Hagrid, clappin his pimped out freakadelic hand on Harryz shoulder n' makin Harryz knees buckle.

"Dope Lord," holla'd tha bartender, peerin at Harry, "is dis -- can dis be --?"

Da Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone straight-up still n' silent.

"Bless mah soul," whispered tha oldschool bartender, "Larry Potsmoker... what tha fuck an honor."

Dude hurried up from behind tha bar, rushed toward Harry n' seized his hand, tears up in his wild lil' fuckin eyes.

"Welcome back, Mista Muthafuckin Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't give a fuck what tha fuck ta say. Everyone was lookin at his muthafuckin ass. Da oldschool biatch wit tha pipe was puffin on it without realizin it had gone up yo. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a pimped out scrapin of chairs n' tha next moment, Harry found his dirty ass bobbin handz wit mah playas up in tha Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mista Muthafuckin Potter, can't believe I be meetin you at last."

"So proud, Mista Muthafuckin Potter, I be just so proud."

"Always wanted ta shake yo' hand -- I be all of a gangbangin' flutter."

"Delighted, Mista Muthafuckin Potter, just can't rap , Digglez tha name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've peeped you before!" holla'd Harry, as Dedalus Digglez top basebizzle cap fell tha git tha fuck outta mah grill in his wild fuckin excitement. "Yo ass bowed ta me once up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shop."

"Dude remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, lookin round at everyone. "Did yo dirty ass hear that, biatch? Dude rethugz me!" Harry shook handz again n' again n' again n' again n' again n' again -- Doris Crockford kept comin back fo' more.

A pale lil' playa made his way forward, straight-up nervously. One of his wild lil' fuckin eyes was twitching.

"Pimp Quirrell!" holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Harry, Pimp Quirrell is gon be one of yo' mackdaddys at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," stammered Pimp Quirrell, graspin Harryz hand, "c-can't t-tell you how tha fuck p- pleased I be ta hook you up, b-biatch."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Pimp Quirrell?"

"D-Defense Against tha D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Pimp Quirrell, as though he'd rather not be thinkin bout dat shit. "N-not dat you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" Dude laughed nervously. "You'll be g-gettin all yo' shit, I suppose? I've g-got ta p-pick up a freshly smoked up b-book on vampires, m-myself." Dude looked terrified all up in tha straight-up thought.

But tha others wouldn't let Pimp Quirrell keep Harry ta his dirty ass. Well shiiiit, it took almost ten minutes ta git away from dem all fo' realz. At last, Hagrid managed ta make his dirty ass heard over tha babble.

"Must git on -- fuckin shitloadz ta buy. Come on, Harry."

Doris Crockford shook Harryz hand one last time, n' Hagrid hustled dem all up in tha bar n' up tha fuck into a small, walled courtyard, where there was not a god damn thang but a trash can n' all dem weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Harry.

"Told yeh, didn't I, biatch? Told yeh you was famous. Even Pimp Quirrell was tremblin' ta hook yeh up. Mind you, he always tremblin'."

"Is he always dat nervous?"

"Oh, yeah. Skanky bloke. Solid mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude was fine while da thug was studyin' outta books but then tha pimpin' muthafucka took a year off ta git some firsthand experience.... They say he kicked it wit vampires up in tha Black Forest, n' there was a nasty bit o' shiznit wit a hag -- never been tha same since. Scared of tha hustlas, scared of his own subject now, wherez me umbrella?"

Vampires, biatch? Hags, biatch? Harryz head was swimmin yo. Hagrid, meanwhile, was countin bricks up in tha wall above tha trash can.

"Three up... two across he muttered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Right, stand back, Harry."

Dude tapped tha wall three times wit tha deal wit his umbrella.

Da brick dat schmoooove muthafucka had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- up in tha middle, a lil' small-ass hole rocked up -- it grew wider n' wider -- a second lata they was facin a archway big-ass enough even fo' Hagrid, a archway onto a cold-ass lil cobbled street dat twisted n' turned outta sight.

"Welcome," holla'd Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

Dude grinned at Harryz amazement. They stepped all up in tha archway yo. Harry looked quickly over his shoulder n' saw tha archway shrink instantly back tha fuck into solid wall.

Da sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside tha nearest shop. Cauldrons All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver Self Stirrin Collapsible, holla'd a sign hangin over dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"Yeah, you gonna be needin' one," holla'd Hagrid, "but we gotta git yer scrilla first."

Harry wished dat schmoooove muthafucka had bout eight mo' eyes yo. Dude turned his head up in every last muthafuckin direction as they strutted up tha street, tryin ta peep every last muthafuckin thang at once: tha shops, tha thangs outside them, tha playas bustin they hustle fo' realz. A plump biatch outside a Apothecary was bobbin her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sicklez an ounce, they mad...."

A low, soft hootin came from a thugged-out dark shop wit a sign sayin Ayyyyyylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, n' Snowy. Several thugz of bout Harryz age had they noses pressed against a window wit broomsticks up in dat shit. "Look," Harry heard one of dem say, "the freshly smoked up Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest eva --" There was shops pushin robes, shops pushin telescopes n' strange silver instruments Harry had never peeped before, windows stacked wit barrelz of bat spleens n' eels' eyes, totterin pilez of spell books, quills, n' rollz of parchment, potion bottles, globez of tha moon....

"Gringotts," holla'd Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white buildin dat towered over tha other lil shops. Standin beside its burnished bronze doors, bustin a uniform of scarlet n' gold, was -

"Yeah, thatz a goblin," holla'd Hagrid on tha fuckin' down-lowly as they strutted up tha white stone steps toward his muthafuckin ass. Da goblin was on some head shorta than Harry yo. Dude had a swarthy, smart-ass face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, straight-up long fingers n' Nikes yo. Dude bowed as they strutted inside. Now they was facin a second pair of doors, silver dis time, wit lyrics engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what tha fuck awaits tha sin of greed,  
For dem playas whoz ass take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly up in they turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure dat was never yours,  
Thief, you done been warned, beware  
Of findin mo' than treasure there.

"Like I holla'd, Yeh'd be mad ta try an' rob it," holla'd Hagrid.

A pair of goblins bowed dem all up in tha silver doors n' they was up in a vast marble hall fo' realz. On some hundred mo' goblins was chillin on high stools behind a long-ass counter, scribblin up in big-ass ledgers, weighin coins up in brass scales, examinin precious stones all up in eyeglasses. There was a fuckin shitload of doors ta count leadin off tha hall, n' yet mo' goblins was showin playas up in n' outta these n' you can put dat on yo' toast yo. Hagrid n' Harry made fo' tha counter.

"Morning," holla'd Hagrid ta a gangbangin' free goblin. "We've come ta take some scrilla outta Mista Muthafuckin Larry Potsmokerz safe."

"Yo ass have his key, Sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," holla'd Hagrid, n' da perved-out muthafucka started emptyin his thugged-out lil' pockets onto tha counter, scatterin a handful of moldy dawg biscuitsover tha goblinz book of numbers. Da goblin wrinkled his nozzle yo. Harry peeped tha goblin on they right weighin a pile of rubies as big as glowin coals.

"Got it," holla'd Hagrid at last, holdin up a tiny golden key.

Da goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems ta be up in order."

"An' I've also gots a letta here from Pimp Dumbledore," holla'd Hagrid blinginly, throwin up his chest. "It aint nuthin but bout tha You-Know-What up in vault seven hundred n' thirteen."

Da goblin read tha letta carefully.

"Straight-up, well," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, handin it back ta Hagrid, "I'ma have Someone take you down ta both vaults, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Once Hagrid had crammed all tha dawg biscuits back inside his thugged-out lil' pockets, he n' Harry followed Griphook toward one of tha doors leadin off tha hall.

"Whatz tha You-Know-What up in vault seven hundred n' thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," holla'd Hagrid mysteriously. "Straight-up secret yo. Hogwarts bidnizz. Dumbledorez trusted mah dirty ass. More'n mah hustle is worth ta tell yeh that."

Griphook held tha door open fo' dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. Harry, whoz ass had expected mo' marble, was surprised. They was up in a narrow stone passageway lit wit flamin torches. Well shiiiit, it sloped steeply downward n' there was lil railway tracks on tha floor. Dis shit aint no joke. Griphook whistled n' a lil' small-ass cart came hurtlin up tha tracks toward dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They climbed up in -- Hagrid wit some hang-up -- n' was off.

At first they just hurtled all up in a maze of twistin passages yo. Harry tried ta remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left yo, but dat shiznit was impossible. Da rattlin cart seemed ta know its own way, cuz Griphook wasn't steering.

Harryz eyes stung as tha cold air rushed past dem yo, but he kept dem wide open. Once, tha pimpin' muthafucka thought da perved-out muthafucka saw a burst of fire all up in tha end of a passage n' twisted round ta peep if dat shiznit was a dragon yo, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passin an underground lake where big-ass stalactites n' stalagmites grew from tha ceilin n' floor.

I never know," Harry called ta Hagrid over tha noise of tha cart,  
"whatz tha difference between a stalagmite n' a stalactite?"

"Stalagmitez gots a 'm' up in it," holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "An' don' ask me thangs just now, I be thinkin I'ma be sick."

Dude did look straight-up green, n' when tha cart stopped at last beside a lil' small-ass door up in tha passage wall, Hagrid gots up n' had ta lean against tha wall ta stop his knees from trembling.

Griphook unlocked tha door fo' realz. All dem chronic smoke came billowin out, n' as it cleared, Harry gasped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Inside was moundz of gold coins. Columnz of silver n' shiznit yo. Heapz of lil bronze Knuts.

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All Harryz -- dat shiznit was incredible. Da Dursleys couldn't have known bout dis or they'd have had it from his ass fasta than blinkin yo. How tha fuck often had they complained how tha fuck much Harry cost dem ta keep, biatch? And all tha time there had been a lil' small-ass fortune belongin ta him, buried deep under London.

Hagrid helped Harry pile a shitload of it tha fuck into a funky-ass bag.

"Da gold ones is Galleons," he explained. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Seventeen silver Sicklez ta a Galleon n' twenty-nine Knuts ta a Sickle, itz easy as fuck enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Right, dat should be enough fer a cold-ass lil couple o' terms, we'll keep tha rest safe fo' yeh." Dude turned ta Griphook. "Vault seven hundred n' thirteen now, please, n' can we go mo' slowly?"

"One speed only," holla'd Griphook.

They was goin even deeper now n' gatherin speed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da air became colda n' colda as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattlin over a underground ravine, n' Harry leaned over tha side ta try ta peep what tha fuck was down all up in tha dark bottom yo, but Hagrid groaned n' pulled his ass back by tha scruff of his neck.

Vault seven hundred n' thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," holla'd Griphook blinginly yo. Dude stroked tha door gently wit one of his fuckin long fingers n' it simply melted away.

"If any playas but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked all up in tha door n' trapped up in there," holla'd Griphook.

"How tha fuck often do you check ta peep if mah playass inside?" Harry asked.

"Bout once every last muthafuckin ten years," holla'd Griphook wit a rather nasty grin.

Somethang straight-up extraordinary had ta be inside dis top securitizzle vault, Harry was sure, n' he leaned forward eagerly, expectin ta peep fabulous jewels all up in tha straight-up least -- but at first tha pimpin' muthafucka thought dat shiznit was empty. Then he noticed a grubby lil package wrapped up in brown paper lyin on tha floor yo. Hagrid picked it up n' tucked it deep inside his coat yo. Harry longed ta know what tha fuck it was yo, but knew betta than ta ask.

"Come on, back up in dis infernal cart, n' don't rap ta me on tha way back, itz dopest if I keep me grill shut," holla'd Hagrid.

One wild cart ride lata they stood blinkin up in tha sunlight outside Gringotts yo. Harry didn't give a fuck where ta run first now dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had a funky-ass bag full of scrilla yo. Dude didn't gotta know how tha fuck nuff Galleons there was ta a pound ta know dat da thug was holdin mo' scrilla than he'd had up in his whole game -- mo' scrilla than even Dudley had eva had.  
\-------  
"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here -- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. "

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him) slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" "Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, peep dat man!" holla'd tha pimp suddenly, noddin toward tha front window yo. Hagrid was standin there, grinnin at Harry n' pointin at two big-ass ice creams ta show his schmoooove ass couldn't come in.

"Thatz Hagrid," holla'd Harry, pleased ta know suttin' tha pimp didn't. "Dude works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," holla'd tha boy, "I've heard of his muthafuckin ass. Dat punk a sort of servant, aint he?"

"Dat punk tha gamekeeper," holla'd Harry yo. Dude was likin tha pimp less n' less every last muthafuckin second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he a sort of savage -- lives up in a hut on tha school groundz n' every last muthafuckin now n' then he gets faded, tries ta do magic, n' endz up settin fire ta his bed."

"I be thinkin his thugged-out lil' punk-ass solid," holla'd Harry coldly.

"Do yo slick ass?" holla'd tha boy, wit a slight sneer n' shit. "Why is da thug wit yo slick ass, biatch? Where is yo' muthafathas?"

"They're dead," holla'd Harry shortly yo. Dude didn't feel much like goin tha fuck into tha matta wit dis boy.

"Oh, sorry," holla'd tha other, not soundin sorry at all. "But they was our kind, weren't they?"

"They was a witch n' wizzle, if thatz what tha fuck you mean."

"I straight-up don't be thinkin they should let tha other sort in, do yo slick ass, biatch? They're just not tha same, they've never been brought up ta know our ways. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of dem have never even heard of Hogwarts until they git tha letter, imagine. I be thinkin they should keep it up in tha oldschool wizzlein crews. Whatz yo' surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin holla'd, "Thatz you done, mah dear," n' Harry, not sorry fo' a excuse ta stop poppin' off ta tha boy, hopped down from tha footstool.

"Well, I be bout ta peep you at Hogwarts, I suppose," holla'd tha drawlin boy.

Harry was rather on tha down-low as he ate tha ice cream Hagrid had looted his ass (chocolate n' raspberry wit chopped nuts).

"Whatz good?" holla'd Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. They stopped ta loot parchment n' quills yo. Harry hollared up a lil' bit when he found a funky-ass forty of ink dat chizzled color as you wrote. When they had left tha shop, da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "Hagrid, whatz Quidditch?"

"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how tha fuck lil yeh know -- not knowin' bout Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," holla'd Harry yo. Dude holla'd at Hagrid bout tha pate pimp up in Madam Malkin's.

"--and da perved-out muthafucka holla'd playas from Muggle crews shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle crew. If he'd known whoz ass yeh was -- he grown up knowin' yer name if his thugged-out lil' muthafathas is wizzlein' folk. Yo ass saw what tha fuck mah playas up in tha Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh fo' realz. Anyway, what tha fuck do he know bout it, some o' tha dopest I eva saw was tha only ones wit magic up in 'em in a long-ass line o' Mugglez -- peep yer mum! Look what tha fuck dat freaky freaky biatch had fer a sister!"

"So what tha fuck is Quidditch?"

"It aint nuthin but our sport. Wizard sport. It aint nuthin but like -- like soccer up in tha Muggle ghetto -- mah playas bigs up Quidditch -- played up in tha air on broomsticks n' there be a gangbangin' four balls -- sorta hard ta explain tha rules." 

"And what tha fuck is Slytherin n' Hufflepuff?"

"School houses. Therez four. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Everyone say Hufflepuff is a shitload o' duffers yo, but --"

"I bet I be up in Hufflepuff" holla'd Harry gloomily.

"Betta Hufflepuff than Slytherin," holla'd Hagrid darkly. "Therez not a single witch or wizzle whoz ass went shitty whoz ass wasn't up in Slytherin. You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch was at Hogwarts?"

"Years n' muthafuckin years ago," holla'd Hagrid.

They looted Harryz school books up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shop called Flourish n' Blotts where tha shelves was stacked ta tha ceilin wit books as big-ass as paving stones bound up in leather; books tha size of postage stamps up in coverz of silk; books full of peculiar symbols n' all dem books with nothang up in dem at all. Even Dudley, whoz ass never read anything, would done been wild ta git his handz on a shitload of these n' you can put dat on yo' toast yo. Hagrid almost had ta drag Harry away from Curses n' Countercurses (Bewitch Yo crazy-ass Playas n' Befuddle Yo crazy-ass Enemies wit tha Latest Revenges: Afro Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tyin n' Much, Much Mo') by Pimp Vindictus Viridian.

"I was tryin ta smoke up how tha fuck ta curse Dudley."

"I aint sayin' thatz not a phat idea yo, but yer not ta use magic up in tha Muggle ghetto except up in straight-up special circumstances," holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of dem curses yet, yeh'll need a shitload mo' study before yeh git ta dat level."

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry loot a solid gold cauldron, either ("It say pewta on yer list") yo, but they gots a sick set of scalez fo' weighin potion ingredients n' a cold-ass lil collapsible brass telescope. Then they hit up tha Apothecary, which was fascinatin enough ta make up fo' its wack smell, a mixture of shitty eggs n' rotted cabbages. Barrelz of slimy shiznit stood on tha floor; jarz of herbs, dried roots, n' bright powdaz lined tha walls; bundlez of feathers, stringz of fangs, n' snarled claws hung from tha ceiling. While Hagrid axed tha playa behind tha counta fo' a supply of some basic potion ingredients fo' Harry, Harry his dirty ass examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each n' minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside tha Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harryz list again.

"Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still aint gots yeh a funky-ass birthdizzle present."

Harry felt his dirty ass face go red.

"Yo ass don't gotta --"

"I know I aint gots to. Tell yeh what, I be bout ta git yer animal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Not a toad, toadz went outta fashizzle muthafuckin years ago, yeh'd be laughed at - an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I be bout ta git yer a owl fo' realz. All tha lil playas want owls, they dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark n' full of rustlin n' flickering, jewel-bright eyes yo. Harry now carried a big-ass cage dat held a funky-ass dope snowy owl, fast asleep wit her head under her wing yo. Dude couldn't stop stammerin his cold-ass props, soundin just like Pimp Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," holla'd Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from dem Dursleys. Just Ollivandaz left now - only place fer wands, Ollivanders, n' yeh gotta have tha dopest wand."

A magic wand... dis was what tha fuck Harry had been straight-up lookin forward to.

Da last shop was narrow n' shabby. Peelin gold lettas over tha door read Ollivanders: Makerz of Fine Wandz since 382 B.C fo' realz. A single wand lay on a gangbangin' faded purple cushion up in tha dusty window.

A tinklin bell rang somewhere up in tha depthz of tha shop as they stepped inside. Dat shiznit was a tiny place, empty except fo' a single, spindly chair dat Hagrid sat on ta wait yo. Harry felt strangely as though dat schmoooove muthafucka had entered a straight-up strict library; da perved-out muthafucka swallowed a shitload of freshly smoked up thangs dat had just occurred ta his ass n' looked instead all up in tha thousandz of narrow boxes piled neatly right up ta tha ceiling. For some reason, tha back of his neck prickled. Da straight-up dust n' silence up in here seemed ta tingle wit some secret magic.

"Dope afternoon," holla'd a soft voice. Harry jumped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hagrid must have jumped, too, cuz there was a funky-ass bangin crunchin noise n' he gots quickly off tha spindly chair.

An oldschool playa was standin before them, his wide, pale eyes shinin like moons all up in tha gloom of tha shop.

"Hello," holla'd Harry awkwardly.

"Ah fo'sho," holla'd tha man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Yes, yes.. n' you KNOWS I'd be seein you soon. Larry Potsmoker." It wasn't a question. "Yo ass have yo' motherz eyes. Well shiiiit, it seems only yesterdizzle dat biiiiatch was up in here her muthafuckin ass, buyin her first wand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Ten n' a quarta inches long, swishy, made of willow. Sick wand fo' charm work."

Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander moved closer ta Harry yo. Harry wished da thug would blink. Those silvery eyes was a lil' bit creepy.

"Yo crazy-ass father, on tha other hand, favored a mahogany piece. Eleven inches. Pliable fo' realz. A lil mo' juice n' pimpin fo' transfiguration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well, I say yo' daddy favored it -- itz straight-up tha wand dat chizzlez tha wizzle, of course."

Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander had come so close dat he n' Harry was almost nozzle ta nozzle yo. Harry could peep his dirty ass reflected up in dem misty eyes.

"And thatz where..."

Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander touched tha lightnin scar on Harryz forehead wit a long, white finger.

"I be sorry as a muthafucka ta say I sold tha wand dat done did it," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, straight-up powerful, n' up in tha wack hands... well, if I'd known what tha fuck dat wand was goin up tha fuck into tha ghetto ta do...."

Dude shook his head n' then, ta Harryz relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus muthafucka! Rubeus Hagrid hommie! How fuckin sick ta peep you again.... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, fo'sho," holla'd Hagrid.

"Dope wand, dat one. But I suppose they snapped it up in half when you gots expelled?" holla'd Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- fo'sho, they did, fo'sho," holla'd Hagrid, shufflin his Nikes. "I've still gots tha pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" holla'd Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," holla'd Hagrid doggystyle yo. Harry noticed he gripped his thugged-out lil' pink umbrella straight-up tightly as da perved-out muthafucka spoke.

"Hmmm," holla'd Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander, givin Hagrid a piercin look. "Well, now -- Mista Muthafuckin Potter n' shit. Let me see." Dude pulled a long-ass tape measure wit silver markings outta his thugged-out lil' pocket. "Which is yo' wand arm?"

"Er -- well, I be right-handed," holla'd Harry.

"Hold up yo' arm. Thatz dat shit." Dude measured Harry from shoulder ta finger, then wrist ta elbow, shoulder ta floor, knee ta armpit n' round his head. As he measured, da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "Every Ollivander wand has a cold-ass lil core of a bangin magical substance, Mista Muthafuckin Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, n' tha heartstringz of dragons n' shit. No two Ollivander wandz is tha same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes is tha same fo' realz. And of course, you aint NEVER gonna git such phat thangs up in dis biatch wit another wizzlez wand."

Harry suddenly realized dat tha tape measure, which was measurin between his nostrils, was bustin dis on its own. Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander was flittin round tha shelves, takin down boxes.

"That will do," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, n' tha tape measure crumpled tha fuck into a heap on tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Right then, Mista Muthafuckin Potter. Try dis one. Beechwood n' dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Sick n' flexible. just take it n' give it a wave."

Harry took tha wand n' (feelin foolish) waved it round a funky-ass bit yo, but Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander snatched it outta his hand almost at once.

"Maple n' phoenix feather n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try --"

Harry tried -- but dat schmoooove muthafucka had hardly raised tha wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander.

"Fuck dat shit, no -here, ebony n' unicorn hair, eight n' a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And tried. Dude had no clue what tha fuck Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander was waitin for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da pile of tried wandz was mountin higher n' higher on tha spindly chair yo, but tha mo' wandz Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander pulled from tha shelves, tha happier da perved-out muthafucka seemed ta become.

"Tricky hustla, eh, biatch? Not ta worry, we'll find tha slick match here somewhere -- I wonder, now - - fo'sho, why not -- unusual combination -- holly n' phoenix feather, eleven inches, sick n' supple."

Harry took tha wand. Dude felt a sudden warmth up in his wild lil' fingers yo. Dude raised tha wand above his head, brought it swishin down all up in tha dusty air n' a stream of red n' gold sparks blasted from tha end like a gangbangin' firework, throwin ridin' dirty spotz of light on ta tha walls yo. Hagrid whooped n' clapped n' Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, straight-up good. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Well, well, well... how fuckin' curious... how straight-up the fuck curious... "

Dude put Harryz wand back tha fuck into its box n' wrapped it up in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious.."

"Sorry," holla'd Harry, "but whatz curious?"

Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander fixed Harry wit his thugged-out lil' pale stare.

"I remember every last muthafuckin wand I've eva sold, Mista Muthafuckin Potter. Every single wand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well it so happens dat tha phoenix whose tail feather is up in yo' wand, gave another feather -- just one other. Well shiiiit, it is straight-up curious indeed dat you should be destined fo' dis wand when its brutha why, its brutha gave you dat scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how tha fuck these thangs happen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da wand chizzlez tha wizzle, remember.... I be thinkin we must expect pimped out thangs from you, Mista Muthafuckin Potter... fo' realz. Afta all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did pimped out thangs -- shitty, fo'sho yo, but pimped out."

Harry shivered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude wasn't shizzle he was horny bout Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander too much yo. Dude paid seven gold Galleons fo' his wand, n' Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander bowed dem from his shop.

Da late afternoon sun hung low up in tha sky as Harry n' Hagrid made they way back down Diagon Alley, back all up in tha wall, back all up in tha Leaky Cauldron, now empty yo. Harry didn't drop a rhyme at all as they strutted down tha road; da ruffneck didn't even notice how tha fuck much playas was gawkin at dem on tha Underground, laden as they was wit all they funky-shaped packages, wit tha snowy owl asleep up in its cage on Harryz lap. Up another escalator, up tha fuck into Paddington station; Harry only realized where they was when Hagrid tapped his ass on tha shoulder.

"Got time fer a funky-ass bite ta smoke before yer train leaves," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd.

Dude looted Harry a hamburger n' they sat down on plastic seats ta smoke dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. Harry kept lookin around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Everythang looked so strange, somehow.

"Y'all right, biatch? Yer straight-up on tha fuckin' down-low," holla'd Hagrid.

Harry wasn't shizzle his schmoooove ass could explain. He'd just had tha dopest birthdizzle of his wild lil' freakadelic game -- n' yet -- his schmoooove ass chewed his hamburger, tryin ta find tha lyrics.

"Everyone be thinkin I be special," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd at last. "All dem playas up in tha Leaky Cauldron, Pimp Quirrell, Mista Muthafuckin Ollivander... but I don't give a fuck bout magic at all yo. How tha fuck can they expect pimped out thangs, biatch? I be hyped n' I can't even remember what tha fuck I be hyped for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I don't give a fuck what tha fuck happened when Vol-, sorry -- I mean, tha night mah muthafathas died."

Hagrid leaned across tha table. Behind tha wild beard n' eyebrows da thug wore a straight-up kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Everyone starts all up in tha beginnin at Hogwarts, you gonna be just fine. just be yerself. I know itz hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yeh've been singled out, an' thatz always hard. But yeh'll have a pimped out time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatta of fact."

Hagrid helped Harry on ta tha train dat would take his ass back ta tha Dursleys, then handed his ass a envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "First o' September -- Mackdaddyz Cross -- itz all on yer ticket fo' realz. Any problems wit tha Dursleys, bust me a letta wit yer owl, she'll know where ta find mah dirty ass.... Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See yeh soon, Harry."

Da train pulled outta tha station. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Harry wanted ta peep Hagrid until da thug was outta sight; he rose up in his seat n' pressed his nozzle against tha window yo, but his thugged-out lil' punk-ass blinked n' Hagrid had gone.


	6. Da trip from platform nine n' three quarters

Harryz last month wit tha Dursleys wasn't fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. True, Dudley was now so scared of Harry da thug wouldn't stay up in tha same room, while Aunt Petunia n' Uncle Vernon didn't shut Harry up in his cupboard, force his ass ta do anythang, or shout at his ass -- in fact, they didn't drop a rhyme ta his ass at all. Half terrified, half furious, they acted as though any chair wit Harry up in it was empty fo' realz. Although dis was a improvement up in nuff ways, it did become a lil' bit wack afta a while.

Harry kept ta his bangin room, wit his freshly smoked up owl fo' company yo. Dude had decided ta booty-call her Hedwig, a name dat schmoooove muthafucka had found up in A History of Magic. His school books was straight-up interestin. Dude lay on his bed readin late tha fuck into tha night, Hedwig swoopin up in n' outta tha open window as she pleased. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dat shiznit was dirty dat Aunt Petunia didn't come up in ta vacuum no mo', cuz Hedwig kept brangin back dead mice. Every night before da thug went ta chill, Harry ticked off another dizzle on tha piece of paper dat schmoooove muthafucka had pinned ta tha wall, countin down ta September tha first.

On tha last dizzle of August tha pimpin' muthafucka thought he'd betta drop a rhyme ta his thugged-out aunt n' uncle bout gettin ta Mackdaddyz Cross station tha next day, so da thug went down ta tha livin room where they was watchin a quiz show on televizzle. Dude cleared his cold-ass throat ta let dem know da thug was there, n' Dudley screamed n' ran from tha room.

"Er -- Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon grunted ta show da thug was listening.

"Er -- I need ta be at Mackdaddyz Cross tomorrow ta -- ta git all up in Hogwarts."

Uncle Vernon grunted again.

"Would it be all right if you gave me a lift?"

Grunt yo. Harry supposed dat meant yes.

"Nuff props, biatch."

Dude was bout ta go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon straight-up spoke.

"Funny way ta git ta a wizzles' school, tha train. Magic carpets all gots punctures, have they?"

Harry didn't say anything.

"Where is dis school, anyway?"

"I don't give a fuck," holla'd Harry, realizin dis fo' tha last time yo. Dude pulled tha ticket Hagrid had given his ass outta his thugged-out lil' pocket.

"I just take tha train from platform nine n' three quartas at eleven o'clock," he read.

His aunt n' uncle stared.

"Platform what?"

"Nine n' three quarters."

"Don't rap rubbish," holla'd Uncle Vernon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "There is no platform nine n' three-quarters."

"It aint nuthin but on mah ticket."

"Barking," holla'd Uncle Vernon, "howlin mad, tha lot of dem wild-ass muthafuckas. You'll see. Yo ass just wait fo' realz. Aiiiight, we'll take you ta Mackdaddyz Cross. We goin up ta London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn't bother."

"Why is you goin ta London?" Harry asked, tryin ta keep thangs bumpin'.

"Takin Dudley ta tha hospitizzle," growled Uncle Vernon. "Got ta have dat ruddy tail removed before he goes ta Smeltings."

Harry woke at five o'clock tha next mornin n' was too buckwild n' straight-up trippin ta go back ta chill yo. Dude gots up n' pulled on his jeans cuz da ruffneck didn't wanna strutt tha fuck into tha station up in his wizzlez robes -- he'd chizzle on tha train. Dude checked his Hogwarts list yet again n' again n' again ta make shizzle dat schmoooove muthafucka had every last muthafuckin thang he needed, saw dat Hedwig was shut safely up in her cage, n' then paced tha room, waitin fo' tha Dursleys ta git up. Two minutes later, Harryz huge, heavy trunk had been loaded tha fuck into tha Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley tha fuck into chillin next ta Harry, n' they had set off.

They reached Mackdaddyz Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harryz trunk onto a cold-ass lil cart n' wheeled it tha fuck into tha station fo' his muthafuckin ass yo. Harry thought dis was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facin tha platforms wit a nasty grin on his wild lil' face.

"Well, there yo ass is, boy. Platform nine -- platform ten. Yo crazy-ass platform should be somewhere up in tha middle yo, but they don't seem ta have built it yet, do they?"

Dude was right, of course. There was a funky-ass big-ass plastic number nine over one platform n' a funky-ass big-ass plastic number ten over tha one next ta it, n' up in tha middle, not a god damn thang at all.

"Have a phat term," holla'd Uncle Vernon wit a even nastier smile yo. Dude left without another word. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Harry turned n' saw tha Dursleys drive away fo' realz. All three of dem was bustin up yo. Harryz grill went rather dry. What on earth was he goin ta do, biatch? Dude was startin ta attract a shitload of funky looks, cuz of Hedwig. He'd have to ask one of da thugs.

Dude stopped a passin guard, but didn't dare mention platform nine n' three-quarters. Da guard had never heard of Hogwarts n' when Harry couldn't even tell his ass what tha fuck part of tha ghetto dat shiznit was in, da perved-out muthafucka started ta git annoyed, as though Harry was bein wack on purpose. Gettin desperate, Harry axed fo' tha train dat left at eleven o'clock yo, but tha guard holla'd there wasn't one. In tha end tha guard strode away, mutterin bout time wastas yo. Harry was now tryin hard not ta panic fo' realz. Accordin ta tha big-ass clock over tha arrivals board, dat schmoooove muthafucka had ten minutes left ta git on tha train ta Hogwarts n' dat schmoooove muthafucka had no clue how tha fuck ta do it; da thug was stranded up in tha middle of a station wit a trunk his schmoooove ass could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizzle scrilla, n' a big-ass owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten ta tell his ass suttin' you had ta do, like tappin tha third brick on tha left ta git tha fuck into Diagon Alley yo. Dude wondered if da perved-out muthafucka should git up his wand n' start tappin tha ticket inspectorz stand between platforms nine n' ten.

At dat moment a crew of playas passed just behind his ass n' his schmoooove ass caught all dem lyrics of what tha fuck they was saying.

"-- packed wit Muggles, of course --"

Harry swung round. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da speaker was a plump biatch whoz ass was poppin' off ta four thugs, all wit flamin red hair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Each of dem was pushin a trunk like Harryz up in front of his ass -- n' they had a owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart afta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They stopped n' so did he, just near enough ta hear what tha fuck they was saying.

"Now, whatz tha platform number?" holla'd tha thugs' mother.

"Nine n' three-quarters!" piped a lil' small-ass girl, also red-headed, whoz ass was holdin her hand, "Mom, can't I go... "

"Yo ass aint oldschool enough, Ginny, now be on tha fuckin' down-low fo' realz. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like tha crazy oldschool pimp marched toward platforms nine n' ten. Harry peeped it, careful not ta blink up in case he missed it -- but just as tha pimp reached tha dividin barrier between tha two platforms, a big-ass crowd of tourists came swarmin up in front of his ass n' by tha time tha last backpack had cleared away, tha pimp had vanished.

"Fred, you next," tha plump biatch holla'd.

"I aint Fred, I be George," holla'd tha boy. "Honestly, biatch, you call yo ass our mother, biatch? Can't you tell I be George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only clownin, I be Fred," holla'd tha boy, n' off da thug went. His twin called afta his ass ta hurry up, n' he must have done so, cuz a second later, dat schmoooove muthafucka had gone -- but how tha fuck had da ruffneck done it?

Now tha third brutha was struttin briskly toward tha barrier da thug was almost there -- n' then, like suddenly, da thug wasn't anywhere.

There was not a god damn thang else fo' dat shit.

"Excuse me," Harry holla'd ta tha plump biatch.

"Yo muthafucka" her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "First time at Hogwarts, biatch? Ronz new, like a muthafucka."

Bitch pointed all up in tha last n' youngest of her lil playas. Dude was tall, thin, n' gangling, wit freckles, big-ass handz n' feet, n' a long-ass nose. "Yes," holla'd Harry. "Da thang is -- tha thang is, I don't know how tha fuck ta --"

"How tha fuck ta git onto tha platform?" her big-ass booty said kindly, n' Harry nodded.

"Not ta worry," her big-ass booty holla'd. "All you gotta do is strutt straight all up in tha barrier between platforms nine n' ten. Don't stop n' don't be scared you gonna crash tha fuck into it, thatz straight-up blingin. Best do it at a lil' bit of a run if you nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

 

Dude pushed his cold-ass trolley round n' stared all up in tha barrier. Well shiiiit, it looked straight-up solid.

Dude started ta strutt toward dat shit. Muthafuckas jostled his ass on they way ta platforms nine n' ten. Harry strutted mo' doggystyle yo. Dude was goin ta smash right tha fuck into dat barrier n' then he'd be up in shiznit -- leanin forward on his cart, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass broke tha fuck into a heavy run -- tha barrier was comin nearer n' nearer -- da thug wouldn't be able ta stop -- tha cart was outta control -- da thug was a gangbangin' foot away -- his schmoooove ass closed his wild lil' fuckin eyes locked n loaded fo' tha crash --

It didn't come... he kept on hustlin... he opened his wild lil' fuckin eyes fo' realz. A scarlet steam engine was waitin next ta a platform packed wit playas fo' realz. A sign overhead holla'd Hogwarts Express, eleven O'clock. Harry looked behind his ass n' saw a wrought-iron archway where tha barrier had been, wit tha lyrics Platform Nine n' Three-Quartas on it, Dude had done dat shit.

Smoke from tha engine drifted over tha headz of tha chatterin crowd, while pussiez of every last muthafuckin color wound here n' there between they legs. Owls hooted ta one another up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disgruntled sort of way over tha babble n' tha scrapin of heavy trunks.

Da first few carriages was already packed wit hustlas, some ridin out of tha window ta rap ta they crews, some fightin over seats yo. Harry pushed his cart off down tha platform up in search of a empty seat. Dude passed a round-faced pimp whoz ass was saying, "Gran, I've lost mah toad again."

"Oh, Neville," dat schmoooove muthafucka heard tha oldschool biatch sigh.

A pimp wit dreadlocks was surrounded by a lil' small-ass crowd.

"Give our asses a look, Lee, go on."

Da pimp lifted tha lid off of a funky-ass box up in his thugged-out arms, n' tha playas round his ass shrieked n' yelled as suttin' inside poked up a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on all up in tha crowd until he found a empty compartment near tha end of tha train. Dude put Hedwig inside first n' then started ta shove n' heave his cold-ass trunk toward tha train door yo. Dude tried ta lift it up tha steps but could hardly raise one end n' twice da ruffneck dropped it painfully on his wild lil' foot. 

"Want a hand?" Dat shiznit was one of tha red-haired twins he'd followed all up in tha barrier

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred hommie! C'mere n' help!"

With tha twins' help, Harryz trunk was at last tucked away up in a cold-ass lil corner of tha compartment.

"Thanks," holla'd Harry, pushin his sweaty dreads outta his wild lil' fuckin eyes.

"Whatz that?" holla'd one of tha twins suddenly, pointin at Harryz lightnin scar.

"Blimey," holla'd tha other twin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Is you --"

"Dude is," holla'd tha straight-up original gangsta twin. "Aren't yo slick ass?" he added ta Harry.

"What?" holla'd Harry.

"Larry Potsmoker, "chorused tha twins.

"Oh, him," holla'd Harry. "I mean, fo'sho, I am."

Da two thugs gawked at him, n' Harry felt his dirty ass turnin red. Then, ta his bangin relief, a voice came floatin up in all up in tha trainz open door.

"Fred, biatch? George, biatch? Is you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With a last peep Harry, tha twins hopped off tha train.

Harry sat down next ta tha window where, half hidden, his schmoooove ass could peep tha red-haired crew on tha platform n' hear what tha fuck they was saying. Their mutha had just taken up her handkerchizzle.

"Ron, you've gots suttin' on yo' nose."

Da youngest pimp tried ta jerk outta tha way, but she grabbed his ass n' fuckin started rubbin tha end of his nose.

"Momma -- geroff" Dude wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie gots somefink on his nosie?" holla'd one of tha twins.

"Shut up," holla'd Ron.

"Wherez Percy?" holla'd they mother.

"Dat punk comin now, nahmeean?"

Da crazy oldschool pimp came stridin tha fuck into sight yo. Dude had already chizzled tha fuck into his billowin black Hogwarts robes, n' Harry noticed a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shiny silver badge on his chest wit tha letta P on dat shit.

"Can't stay long, Mother," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "I be up front, tha prefects have gots two compartments ta theyselves --"

"Oh, is you a prefect, Percy?" holla'd one of tha twins, wit a air of pimped out surprise. "Yo ass should have holla'd something, our crazy asses had no idea."

"Hang on, I be thinkin I remember his ass sayin suttin' bout it," holla'd tha other twin. "Once --"

"Or twice --"

"A minute --"

"All summer --"

"Oh, shut tha fuck up," holla'd Percy tha Prefect.

"How tha fuck come Percy gets freshly smoked up robes, anyway?" holla'd one of tha twins.

"Because he a prefect," holla'd they mutha fondly. "All right, dear, well, gotz a phat term -- bust me a owl when you git there."

Bitch busted Percy on tha cheek n' he left. Then dat dunkadelic hoe turned ta tha twins.

"Now, you two -- dis year, you behave yourselves. If I git one mo' owl spittin some lyrics ta me you've -- you've blown up a toilet or --"

"Blown up a toilet, biatch? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great scam though, props, Mom."

"It aint nuthin but not funky fo' realz. And look afta Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe wit us."

"Shut up," holla'd Ron again. Dude was almost as tall as tha twins already n' his nozzle was still pink where his crazy-ass mutha had rubbed dat shit.

"Yo, Mom, guess what, biatch? Guess whoz ass our laid-back asses just kicked it wit on tha train?"

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't peep his ass looking.

"Yo ass know dat black-haired pimp whoz ass was near our asses up in tha station, biatch? Know whoz ass he is?"

"Who?"

"Larry Potsmoker!"

Harry heard tha lil girlz voice.

"Oh, Mom, can I go on tha train n' peep him, Mom, eh please...."

"You've already peeped him, Ginny, n' tha skanky pimp aint suttin' you goggle at up in a zoo. Is he straight-up, Fred, biatch? How tha fuck do you know?"

"Axed his muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Saw his scar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It aint nuthin but straight-up there - like lightning."

"Skanky dear - no wonder da thug was alone, I wondered. Dude was eva so polite when he axed how tha fuck ta git onto tha platform."

"Never mind that, do you be thinkin he rethugz what tha fuck You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! tha fuck looks like?"

Their mutha suddenly became straight-up stern.

"I forbid you ta ask him, Fred. Fuck dat shit, don't you dare fo' realz. As though he needz remindin of dat on his wild lil' first dizzle at school."

"All right, keep yo' afro on."

A whistle sounded.

"Hurry up!" they mutha holla'd, n' tha three thugs clambered onto tha train. They leaned outta tha window fo' her ta lick dem good-bye, n' they younger sista fuckin started ta cry like a muthafucka.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll bust you loadz of owls."

"We bout ta bust you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only clownin, Mom."

Da train fuckin started ta move. Harry saw tha thugs' mutha wavin n' they sister, half laughing, half crying, hustlin ta keep up wit tha train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell tha fuck back n' waved.

Harry peeped tha hoe n' her mutha disappear as tha train rounded tha corner n' shiznit. Houses flashed past tha window yo. Harry felt a pimped out leap of excitement yo. Dude didn't give a fuck what tha fuck da thug was goin ta but it had ta be betta than what tha fuck da thug was leavin behind.

Da door of tha compartment slid open n' tha youngest redheaded pimp came in.

"Any Muthafucka chillin there?" he asked, pointin all up in tha seat opposite Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head n' tha pimp sat down. Dude glanced at Harry n' then looked quickly outta tha window, pretendin dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't looked. Harry saw da perved-out muthafucka still had a funky-ass black mark on his nose.

"Yo, Ron."

Da twins was back.

"Listen, we goin down tha middle of tha train -- Lee Jordanz gots a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Harry," holla'd tha other twin, "did we introduce ourselves, biatch? Fred n' George Weasley fo' realz. And dis is Ron, our brutha n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See you later, then.

"Bye," holla'd Harry n' Ron. Da twins slid tha compartment door shut behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"Is you straight-up Larry Potsmoker?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

"Oh -well, I thought it might be one of Fred n' Georgez jokes," holla'd Ron. "And have you straight-up gots -- you know..."

Dude pointed at Harryz forehead.

Harry pulled back his bangs ta show tha lightnin scar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Ron stared.

"So thatz where You-Know-Who-"

"Yes," holla'd Harry, "but I can't remember dat shit."

"Nothing?" holla'd Ron eagerly.

"Well -- I remember a shitload of chronic light yo, but not a god damn thang else."

"Fuck dat shit," holla'd Ron. Dude sat n' stared at Harry fo' all dem moments, then, as though dat schmoooove muthafucka had suddenly realized what tha fuck da thug was bustin, he looked quickly outta tha window again.

"Is all yo' crew wizzles?" axed Harry, whoz ass found Ron just as  
interestin as Ron found his muthafuckin ass.

"Er -- Yes, I be thinkin so," holla'd Ron. "I be thinkin Momz gots a second cousin whoz a accountant yo, but we never rap bout his muthafuckin ass."

"So you must know loadz of magic already."

Da Weasleys was clearly one of dem oldschool wizzlein crews tha pale pimp up in Diagon Alley had talked about.

"I heard you went ta live wit Muggles," holla'd Ron. "What is they like?"

"Horrible -well, not all of dem wild-ass muthafuckas. My fuckin aunt n' uncle n' cousin are, though cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Wish I'd had three wizzle brothers."

"Five," holla'd Ron. For some reason, da thug was lookin gloomy. "I be tha sixth up in our crew ta git all up in Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Yo ass could say I've gots a shitload ta live up to. Bizzle n' Charlie have already left -- Bizzle was head pimp n' Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percyz a prefect. Fred n' George mess round a shitload yo, but they still git straight-up phat marks n' mah playas be thinkin they straight-up funky. Everyone expects me ta do as well as tha others yo, but if I do, itz no big-ass deal, cuz they done did it first. Yo ass never git anythang new, either, wit five brothers. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I gots Bizzlez oldschool robes, Charliez oldschool wand, n' Percyz oldschool rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket n' pulled up a gangbangin' fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"His namez Scabbers n' he useless, dat schmoooove muthafucka hardly eva wakes up. Percy gots an owl from mah daddy fo' bein done cooked up a prefect yo, but they couldn't aff -- I mean, I gots Scabbers instead."

Ronz ears went pink yo. Dude seemed ta be thinkin he'd holla'd too much, cuz da thug went back ta starin outta tha window.

Harry didn't be thinkin there was anythang wack wit not bein able ta afford a owl fo' realz. Afta all, he'd never had any scrilla up in his wild lil' freakadelic game until a month ago, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at Ron so, all bout havin ta wear Dudleyz oldschool threadz n' never gettin proper birthdizzle presents.This seemed ta cheer Ron up.

"... n' until Hagrid holla'd at me, I didn't know a fucking anythang bout bein a wizzle or bout mah muthafathas or Voldemort"

Ron gasped.

"What?" holla'd Harry.

"Yo ass holla'd You-Know-Whoz name!" holla'd Ron, soundin both shocked n' impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all playas --"

"I aint tryin ta be brave or anything, sayin tha name," holla'd Harry, I just never knew you shouldn't. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See what tha fuck I mean, biatch? I've gots loadz ta learn.... I bet," he added, voicin fo' tha last time suttin' dat had been worryin his ass a shitload lately, "I bet I be da most shitty up in tha class."

"Yo ass won't be. Therez loadz of playas whoz ass come from Muggle crews n' they learn quick enough."

While they had been rappin', tha train had carried dem outta London. Now they was speedin past fieldz full of cows n' sheep. They was on tha down-low fo' a time, watchin tha fieldz n' lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a pimped out clatterin outside up in tha corridor n' a smiling, dimpled biatch slid back they door n' holla'd, "Anythang off tha cart, dears?"

Harry, whoz ass hadn't had any breakfast, leapt ta his wild lil' feet yo, but Ronz ears went pink again. he muttered dat he'd brought sandwiches yo. Harry went up tha fuck into tha corridor.

Dude had never had any scrilla fo' candy wit tha Dursleys, n' now dat he had pockets rattlin wit gold n' silver da thug was locked n loaded ta loot as many Mars Bars as his schmoooove ass could carry -- but tha biatch didn't have Mars Bars. What her dope ass did have was Bettie Bottz Every Flavor Beans, Drooblez Best Blowin Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, n' a fuckin shitload of other strange thangs Harry had never peeped up in his wild lil' freakadelic game. Not wantin ta miss anything, he gots a shitload of every last muthafuckin thang n' paid tha biatch eleven silver Sicklez n' seven bronze Knuts.

Ron stared as Harry brought all dat shiznit back up in ta tha compartment n' tipped it onto a empty seat.

"Hungry, is yo slick ass?"

"Starving," holla'd Harry, takin a big-ass bite outta a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken up a lumpy package n' unwrapped dat shit. There was four sandwiches inside yo. Dude pulled one of dem apart n' holla'd, "Bitch always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you fo' one of these," holla'd Harry, holdin up a pasty. "Go on --"

"Yo ass don't want this, itz all dry," holla'd Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Bitch aint gots much time," he added quickly, "you know, wit five of us."

"Go on, gotz a pasty," holla'd Harry, whoz ass had never had anythang ta share before or, indeed, no playas ta share it with. Dat shiznit was a sick feeling, chillin there wit Ron, smokin they way all up in Harryz pasties, cakes, n' candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What is these?" Harry axed Ron, holdin up a ounce ta tha bounce of Chocolate Frogs. "They're not straight-up frogs, is they?" Dude was startin ta feel dat not a god damn thang would surprise his muthafuckin ass.

"No," holla'd Ron. "But peep what tha fuck tha card is. I be missin Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know -- Chocolate Frogs have cards, inside them, you know, ta collect -- hyped witches n' wizzles. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I gots bout five hundred yo, but I aint gots Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog n' picked up tha card. Well shiiiit, it flossed a manz grill yo. Dude wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, n' flowin silver hair, beard, n' mustache. Underneath tha picture was tha name Albus Dumbledore.

"So dis is Dumbledore!" holla'd Harry.

"Don't tell me you'd never heard of Dumbledore!" holla'd Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Can I gots a gangbangin' frog, biatch? I might git Agrippa -- props

Harry turned over his card n' read:

Albus Dumbledore  
Currently headmasta of Hogwarts  
Considered by nuff tha top billin wizzle of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly hyped fo' his fuckin lil' defeat of tha dark wizzle Grindelwald up in 1945, fo' tha discovery of tha twelve usez of dragonz blood, n' his work on alchemy wit his thugged-out lil' partner, Nicolas Flamel. Pimp Dumbledore rides hard fo' chamber noize n' tenpin bowling.

Harry turned tha card back over n' saw, ta his thugged-out astonishment, dat Dumbledorez grill had disappeared.

"Dat punk gone!"

"Well, you can't expect his ass ta hang round all day," holla'd Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Dude bout ta be back. Fuck dat shit, I've gots Morgana again n' again n' again n' I've gots bout six of her muthafuckin ass... do you want it, biatch? Yo ass can start collecting."

Ronz eyes strayed ta tha pile of Chocolate Frogs waitin ta be unwrapped.

"Help yo ass," holla'd Harry. "But in, you know, tha Muggle ghetto, playas just stay put up in photos."

"Do they, biatch? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "weird!"

Harry stared as Dumbledore sidled back tha fuck into tha picture on his card n' gave his ass a lil' small-ass smile. Ron was mo' horny bout smokin tha frogs than lookin all up in tha Hyped Witches n' Wizardz cardz yo, but Harry couldn't keep his wild lil' fuckin eyes off dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Soon dat schmoooove muthafucka had not only Dumbledore n' Morgana yo, but Hengist of Woodcroft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, n' Merlin. Dude finally tore his wild lil' fuckin eyes away from tha druidess Cliodna, whoz ass was scratchin her nose, ta open a ounce ta tha bounce of Bertie Bottz Every Flavor Beans.

"Yo ass wanna be careful wit them," Ron warned Harry. "When they say every last muthafuckin flavor, they mean every last muthafuckin flavor -- you know, you git all tha ordinary ones like chocolate n' peppermint n' marmalade yo, but then you can git spinach n' liver n' tripe. George reckons dat he had a funky-ass booger- flavored one once."

Ron picked up a chronic bean, looked at it carefully, n' bit tha fuck into a cold-ass lil corner.

"Bleaaargh -- see, biatch? Sprouts."

They had a phat time smokin tha Every Flavor Beans yo. Harry gots toast, coconut, baked bean, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, n' was even brave enough ta nibble tha end off a gangbangin' funky gray one Ron wouldn't touch, which turned up ta be pepper.

Da ghettoside now flyin past tha window was becomin wilder n' shit. Da neat fieldz had gone. Now there was woods, twistin rivers, n' dark chronic hills.

There was a knock on tha door of they compartment n' tha round-faced pimp Harry had passed on platform nine n' threequartas came in. Dude looked tearful.

"Sorry," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "but have you peeped a toad at all?"

When they shook they heads, da thug wailed, "I've lost him! Dude keeps gettin away from me!"

"Dude bout ta turn up," holla'd Harry.

"Yes," holla'd tha pimp miserably. "Well, if you peep his muthafuckin ass..."

Dude left.

"Don't know why da perved-out muthafucka so bothered," holla'd Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

Da rat was still snoozin on Ronz lap.

"Dude might have took a dirt nap n' you wouldn't know tha difference," holla'd Ron up in disgust. "I tried ta turn his ass yellow yesterdizzle ta make his ass mo' interestin yo, but tha spell didn't work. I be bout ta show you, look..."

Dude rummaged round up in his cold-ass trunk n' pulled up a straight-up battered-lookin wand. Dat shiznit was chipped up in places n' suttin' white was glintin all up in tha end.

"Unicorn hairz nearly pokin up fo' realz."

Dude had just raised his 'wand when tha compartment door slid open again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da toadless pimp was back yo, but dis time dat schmoooove muthafucka had a hoe wit his muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was already bustin her freshly smoked up Hogwarts robes.

"Has mah playas peeped a toad, biatch? Nevillez lost one," her big-ass booty holla'd. Biatch had a funky-ass bossy sort of voice, fuckin shitloadz of bushy brown hair, n' rather big-ass front teeth.

"We've already holla'd we aint peeped it," said Ron, but tha hoe wasn't listening, dat biiiiatch was lookin all up in tha wand up in his hand.

"Oh, is you bustin magic, biatch? Letz peep it, then."

Bitch sat down. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er -- all right."

Dude cleared his cold-ass throat.

"Sunshine, daisies yo, butta mellow, Turn dis stupid, fat rat yellow."

Dude waved his wand yo, but not a god damn thang happened. Scabbers stayed gray n' fast asleep.

"Is you shizzle thatz a real spell?" holla'd tha girl. "Well, it straight-up aint good, is it, biatch? I've tried all dem simple spells just fo' practice n' itz all hit dat shiznit fo' mah dirty ass. No Muthafucka up in mah fam is magic at all, dat shiznit was such a surprise when I gots mah letter yo, but I was eva so pleased, of course, I mean, itz tha straight-up dopest school of witchcraft there is, I've heard -- I've hustled all our course books, I just hope it is ghon be enough -- I be Hermione Granger, by tha way, whoz ass is you, biatch."

Bitch holla'd all dis straight-up fast.

Harry looked at Ron, n' was relieved ta peep by his stunned grill dat dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't hustled all tha course books either.

"I be Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Larry Potsmoker," holla'd Harry.

"Is you straight-up?" holla'd Hermione. "I know all bout you, of course -- I gots all dem extra books. fo' background reading, n' you up in Modern Magical History n' Da Rise n' Fall of tha Dark Arts n' Great Wizardin Eventz of tha Twentieth Century.

"Am I?" holla'd Harry, feelin dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found up every last muthafuckin thang I could if dat shiznit was me," holla'd Hermione. "Do either of y'all know what tha fuck doggy den you gonna be in, biatch? I've been askin around, n' I hope I be up in Gryffindor, it soundz by far tha best; I hear Dumbledore his dirty ass was up in it yo, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... fo' realz. Anyway, we'd betta go n' look fo' Nevillez toad. Yo asses had betta chizzle, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, takin tha toadless pimp wit her.

"Whatever doggy den I be in, I hope she not up in it," holla'd Ron. Dude threw his wand back tha fuck into his cold-ass trunk. "Stupid spell -- George gave it ta me, bet he knew dat shiznit was a thugged-out dud."

"What doggy den is yo' brothers in?" axed Harry.

"Gryffindor," holla'd Ron. Gloom seemed ta be settlin on his ass again. "Momma n' Pops was up in it, like a muthafucka. I don't know what tha fuck they'll say if I aint in Gryffindor. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad yo, but imagine if they put me up in Slytherin."

"Thatz tha doggy den Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! tha fuck was in?"

"Yeah," holla'd Ron. Dude flopped back tha fuck into his seat, lookin pissed off.

"Yo ass know, I be thinkin tha endz of Scabbers' whiskers is a lil' bit lighter," holla'd Harry, tryin ta take Ronz mind off houses. "So what tha fuck do yo' crazy oldschool brothers do now dat they've left, anyway?"

Harry was wonderin what tha fuck a wizzle did once he'd finished school.

"Charliez up in Romania studyin dragons, n' Bizzlez up in Africa bustin suttin' fo' Gringotts," holla'd Ron. "Did yo dirty ass hear bout Gringotts, biatch? It aint nuthin but been all over tha Daily Prophet yo, but I don't suppose you git dat wit tha Mugglez -- one of mah thugs tried ta rob a high securitizzle vault."

Harry stared.

"Really, biatch? What happened ta them?"

"Nothing, thatz why itz such big-ass news. They aint been caught. My fuckin daddy say it must've been a bangin Dark wizzle ta git round Gringotts yo, but they don't be thinkin they took anything, thatz whatz odd. 'Course, mah playas gets scared when suttin' like dis happens up in case You-Know-Whoz behind dat shit."

Harry turned dis shizzle over up in his crazy-ass mind. Dude was startin ta git a prickle of fear every last muthafuckin time You- Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch was mentioned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude supposed dis was all part of enterin tha magical ghetto yo, but it had been a shitload mo' laid back sayin "Voldemort" without worrying.

"Whatz yo' Quidditch crew?" Ron asked.

"Er -- I don't know shit," Harry confessed.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, itz tha dopest game up in tha ghetto --" And da thug was off, explainin all bout tha four balls n' tha positionz of tha seven playas, describin hyped game he'd been ta wit his brothers n' tha broomstick he'd like ta git if dat schmoooove muthafucka had tha scrilla. Dude was just takin Harry all up in tha finer pointz of tha game when tha compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville tha toadless boy, or Hermione Granger dis time.

Three thugs entered, n' Harry recognized tha middle one at once: dat shiznit was tha pale pimp from Madam Malkinz robe shop yo. Dude was lookin at Harry wit a shitload mo' interest than he'd shown back up in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "They're sayin all down tha train dat Harry "Potterz up in dis compartment. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So itz you, is it?"

"Yes," holla'd Harry. Dude was lookin all up in tha other thugs. Both of dem was thickset n' looked mad mean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Standin on either side of tha pale boy, they looked like bodyguards.

"Oh, dis is Crabbe n' dis is Goyle," holla'd tha pale pimp carelessly, noticin where Harry was looking. "And mah namez Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might done been hidin a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at his muthafuckin ass.

"Think mah namez funky, do yo slick ass, biatch? No need ta ask whoz yo ass is. My fuckin daddy holla'd at mah crazy ass all tha Weasleys have red hair, freckles, n' mo' lil pimps than they can afford."

Dude turned back ta Harry. "You'll soonfind that some wizzlein crews is much betta than others, Potter n' shit. Yo ass don't wanna go makin playaz wit tha wack sort. I can help you there."

Dude held up his hand ta shake Harryz, but Harry didn't take dat shit.

"I be thinkin I can tell whoz ass tha wack sort fo' mah self" da muthafucka holla'd coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red yo, but a pink tinge rocked up in his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I was you, Potter," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd slowly. "Unless you a lil' bit polita you gonna go tha same way as yo' muthafathas. They didn't give a fuck what tha fuck was phat fo' them, either n' shit. Yo ass hang round wit riffraff like tha Weasleys n' dat Hagrid, n' it'll rub off on you, biatch."

Both Harry n' Ron stood up.

"Say dat again," Ron holla'd, his wild lil' grill as red as his hair.

"Oh, you goin ta fight us, is yo slick ass?" Malfoy sneered.

"Unless you git the fuck out now," holla'd Harry, mo' bravely than he felt, cuz Crabbe n' Goyle was a shitload bigger than his ass or Ron.

"But our phat asses don't feel like leaving, do we, biatch? We've smoked up all our shit n' you still seem ta have some."

Goyle reached toward tha Chocolate Frogs next ta Ron - Ron leapt forward yo, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let up a wack yell.

Scabbers tha rat was hangin off his wild lil' finger, sharp lil teeth sunk deep tha fuck into Goylez knuckle - Crabbe n' Malfoy backed away as Goyle swung Scabbers round n' round, howling, n' when Scabbets finally flew off n' hit tha window, all three of dem disappeared at once. Perhaps they thought there was mo' rats lurkin among tha dopes, or like they'd heard footsteps, cuz a second later, Hermione Granger had come in.

"What has been goin on?" her big-ass booty holla'd, lookin all up in tha dopes all over tha floor n' Ron pickin up Scabbers by his cold-ass tail.

I be thinkin his thugged-out lil' punk-ass been knocked out," Ron holla'd ta Harry. Dude looked closer at Scabbers. "No -- I don't believe it -- he back to chillin-"

And so dat schmoooove muthafucka had.

"You've kicked it wit Malfoy before?"

Harry explained bout they meetin up in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his crew," holla'd Ron darkly. "They was a shitload of tha straight-up original gangsta ta come back ta our side afta You-Know-Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch fuckin disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My fuckin daddy don't believe it yo. Dude say Malfoyz daddy didn't need an excuse ta go over ta tha Dark Side." Dude turned ta Hermione. "Can our crazy asses help you wit something?"

"You'd betta hurry up n' put yo' robes on, I've just been up ta tha front ta ask tha conductor, n' da perved-out muthafucka say we're nearly there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Yo asses aint been fighting, have you, biatch? You'll be up in shiznit before we even git there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," holla'd Ron, scowlin at her n' shit. "Would you mind leavin while we chizzle?"

"All right -- I only came up in here cuz playas outside is behavin straight-up childishly, racin up n' down tha corridors," holla'd Hermione up in a sniffy voice. "And you've gots dirt on yo' nose, by tha way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left yo. Harry peered outta tha window. Dat shiznit was gettin dark yo. Dude could peep mountains n' forests under a thugged-out deep purple sky. Da train did seem ta be slowin down.

Harry n' Ron took off they jackets n' pulled on they long black robes. Ronz was a lil' bit short fo' him, you could peep his sneakers underneath dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

A voice echoed all up in tha train: "Us thugs is ghon be reachin Hogwarts up in five minutes' time. Please leave yo' luggage on tha train, it is ghon be taken ta tha school separately."

Harryz stomach lurched wit nerves n' Ron, da perved-out muthafucka saw, looked pale under his wild lil' freckles. They crammed they pockets wit tha last of tha dopes n' joined tha crowd throngin tha corridor.

Da train slowed right down n' finally stopped. Muthafuckas pushed they way toward tha door n' up on ta a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered up in tha cold night air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Then a lamp came bobbin over tha headz of tha hustlas, n' Harry heard a gangbangin' familiar voice: "Firs' years muthafucka! Firs' muthafuckin years over here biaaatch! All right there, Harry?"

Hagridz big-ass hairy grill beamed over tha sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me -- any mo' firs' years, biatch? Mind yer step, now! Firs' muthafuckin years follow me!"

Slippin n' stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what tha fuck seemed ta be a steep, narrow path. Dat shiznit was so dark on either side of dem dat Harry thought there must be thick trees there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. No Muthafucka was rappin much. Neville, tha pimp whoz ass kept losin his cold-ass toad, sniffed once or twice.  
"Ye' all git yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts up in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round dis bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

Da narrow path had opened suddenly onto tha edge of a pimped out black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on tha other side, its windows sparklin up in tha starry sky, was a vast castle wit nuff turrets n' towers.

"No more'n four ta a funky-ass boat!" Hagrid called, pointin ta a gangbangin' fleet of lil boats chillin up in tha wata by tha shore yo. Harry n' Ron was followed tha fuck into they boat by Neville n' Hermione. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, whoz ass had a funky-ass boat ta his dirty ass self. "Right then -- FORWARD!"

And tha fleet of lil boats moved off all at once, glidin across tha lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, starin up all up in tha pimped out castle overhead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Well shiiiit, it towered over dem as they sailed nearer n' nearer ta tha cliff on which it stood.

"Headz down!" yelled Hagrid as tha straight-up original gangsta boats reached tha cliff; they all bent they headz n' tha lil boats carried dem all up in a cold-ass lil curtain of ivy dat hid a wide openin up in tha cliff face. They was carried along a thugged-out dark tunnel, which seemed ta be takin dem right underneath tha castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered up onto rocks n' pebbles.

"Oy, you there biaaatch! Is dis yo' toad?" holla'd Hagrid, whoz ass was checkin tha boats as playas climbed outta dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holdin up his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway up in tha rock afta Hagridz lamp, comin up at last onto smooth, damp grass right up in tha shadow of tha castle.

They strutted up a gangbangin' flight of stone steps n' crowded round tha huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here, biatch? Yo ass there, still gots yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist n' knocked three times on tha castle door.


	7. Da sortin hat

Da door swung open at once fo' realz. A tall, black-haired witch up in emerald-chronic robes stood there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch had a straight-up stern grill n' Harryz first thought was dat dis was not one of mah thugs ta cross.

"Da firs' years, Pimp McGonagall," holla'd Hagrid.

"Nuff props, Hagrid. I'ma take dem from here."

Bitch pulled tha door wide. Da entrizzle hall was so big-ass you could have fit tha whole of tha Dursleys' doggy den up in dat shit. Da stone walls was lit wit flamin torches like tha ones at Gringotts, tha ceilin was too high ta make out, n' a magnificent marble staircase facin dem hustled ta tha upper floors.

They followed Pimp McGonagall across tha flagged stone floor. Harry could hear tha drone of hundredz of voices from a thugged-out doorway ta tha right -the rest of tha school must already be here -- but Pimp McGonagall flossed tha muthafuckin first years tha fuck into a small, empty chamber off tha hall. They crowded in, standin rather closer together than they would probably have done, peerin bout nervously.

"Yo, wuz crackalackin', biatch? Yo ass is smokin Hogwarts," holla'd Pimp McGonagall. "Da start-of-term banquet will begin shortly yo, but before you take yo' seats up in tha Great Hall, yo big-ass booty is ghon be sorted tha fuck into yo' houses. Da Sortin be a straight-up blingin ceremony cuz, while yo ass is here, yo' doggy den is ghon be suttin' like yo' crew within Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Yo ass gonna git classes wit tha rest of yo' house, chill up in yo' doggy den dormitory, n' spend free time up in yo' doggy den common room.

"Da four houses is called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, n' Slytherin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Each doggy den has its own noble history n' each has produced outstandin witches n' wizzles. While yo ass be at Hogwarts, yo' triumphs will git yo' doggy den points, while any rulebreakin will lose doggy den points fo' realz. At tha end of tha year, tha doggy den wit da most thugged-out points be awarded tha doggy den cup, a pimped out honor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I hope each of yo big-ass booty is ghon be a cold-ass lil credit ta whichever doggy den becomes yours.

"Da Sortin Ceremony will take place up in all dem minutes up in front of tha rest of tha school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while yo ass is waiting."

Her eyes lingered fo' a moment on Nevillez cloak, which was fastened under his fuckin left ear, n' on Ronz smudged nozzle yo. Harry nervously tried ta flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we is locked n loaded fo' you," holla'd Pimp McGonagall. "Please wait on tha fuckin' down-lowly."

Bitch left tha chamber n' shiznit yo. Harry swallowed.

"How tha fuck exactly do they sort our asses tha fuck into houses?" he axed Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred holla'd it hurts a shitload yo, but I be thinkin da thug was clownin."

Harryz ass gave a wack jolt fo' realz. A test, biatch? In front of tha whole school, biatch? But da ruffneck didn't know shit about magic yet -- what tha fuck he gotta do? Dude hadn't expected suttin' like dis tha moment they arrived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude looked round anxiously n' saw dat any suckas looked terrified, like a muthafucka. No one was poppin' off much except Hermione Granger, whoz ass was whisperin straight-up fast bout all tha spells she'd hustled n' wonderin which one she'd need. Harry tried hard not ta dig her n' shiznit yo. He'd never been mo' nervous, never, not even when he'd had ta take a school report home ta tha Dursleys sayin dat he'd somehow turned his cold-ass mackdaddyz wig blue yo. Dude kept his wild lil' fuckin eyes fixed on tha door fo' realz. Any second now, Pimp McGonagall would come back n' lead his ass ta his fuckin doom.

Then suttin' happened dat made his ass jump on some gangbangin' foot up in tha air -- nuff muthafuckin playas behind his ass screamed.

"What tha --?"

Dude gasped. So did tha playas round his muthafuckin ass fo' realz. Bout twenty pimps had just streamed all up in tha back wall. Pearly-white n' slightly transparent, they glided across tha room poppin' off ta one another n' hardly glancin all up in tha straight-up original gangstas. They seemed ta be jumpin off bout some shit. What looked like a gangbangin' fat lil monk was saying: "Forgive n' forget, I say, we ought ta give his ass a second chizzle --"

"My fuckin dear Friar, aint we given Peeves all tha chances da ruffneck deserves? Dude gives our asses all a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass name n' you know, he not straight-up even a pimp -- I say, what tha fuck is you all bustin here?"

A pimp bustin a ruff n' tights had suddenly noticed tha straight-up original gangsta years. No Muthafucka answered.

"New hustlas!" holla'd tha Fat Friar, smilin round at dem wild-ass muthafuckas. "Bout ta be sorted, I suppose?"

A few playas nodded mutely.

"Hope ta peep you up in Hufflepuff!" holla'd tha Friar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "My fuckin oldschool house, you know."

"Move along now," holla'd a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp voice. "Da Sortin Ceremonyz bout ta start."

Pimp McGonagall had returned. One by one, tha pimps floated away all up in tha opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Pimp McGonagall holla'd all up in tha straight-up original gangsta years, "and gangbang mah dirty ass."

Feelin oddly as though his hairy-ass legs had turned ta lead, Harry gots tha fuck into line behind a funky-ass pimp wit sandy hair, wit Ron behind him, n' they strutted outta tha chamber, back across tha hall, n' all up in a pair of double doors tha fuck into tha Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange n' splendid place. Dat shiznit was lit by thousandz n' thousandz of candlez dat was floatin up in midair over four long tables, where tha rest of tha hustlas was chillin. These tablez was laid wit glitterin golden plates n' goblets fo' realz. At tha top of tha hall was another long table where tha mackdaddys was chillin. Pimp McGonagall hustled tha straight-up original gangsta muthafuckin years up here, so dat they came ta a halt up in a line facin tha other hustlas, wit tha mackdaddys behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas.Da hundredz of faces starin at dem looked like pale lanterns up in tha flickerin candlelight. Dotted here n' there among tha hustlas, tha pimps shone misty silver n' shit. Mainly ta stay tha fuck away from all tha starin eyes, Harry looked upward n' saw a velvety black ceilin dotted wit stars yo. Dude heard Hermione whisper, "Its bewitched ta be lookin like tha sky outside. I read bout it up in Hogwarts, A History."

Dat shiznit was hard ta believe there was a cold-ass lil ceilin there at all, n' dat tha Great Hall didn't simply open on ta tha heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again n' again as Pimp McGonagall silently placed a gangbangin' four-legged stool up in front of tha straight-up original gangsta years. On top of tha stool she put a pointed wizzlez hat. This basebizzle cap was patched n' frayed n' mad dirty fo' realz. Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it up in tha house.

Maybe they had ta try n' git a rabbit outta it, Harry thought wildly, dat seemed tha sort of thang -- noticin dat mah playas up in tha hall was now starin all up in tha hat, da perved-out muthafucka stared at it, like a muthafucka. For all dem seconds, there was complete silence. Then tha basebizzle cap twitched. A rip near tha brim opened wide like a grill -- n' tha basebizzle cap fuckin started ta rap:

"Oh, you may not be thinkin I be pretty,  
But don't judge on what tha fuck you see,  
I be bout ta smoke mah dirty ass if you can find  
A smarta basebizzle cap than me.  
Yo ass can keep yo' bowlaz black,  
Yo crazy-ass top hats sleek n' tall,  
For I be tha Hogwarts Sortin Hat  
And I can cap dem all.  
Therez not a god damn thang hidden up in yo' head  
Da Sortin Hat can't see,  
So try me on n' I'ma rap   
Where you ought ta be.  
Yo ass might belong up in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell tha brave at ass,  
Their daring, nerve, n' chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;  
Yo ass might belong up in Hufflepuff,  
Where they is just n' loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffis is legit And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet up in wise oldschool Ravenclaw,  
if you've a locked n loaded mind,  
Where dem of wit n' peepin',  
Will always find they kind;  
Or like up in Slytherin  
You'll find yo' real friends,  
Those cunnin folk use any means  
To big up they ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't git up in a gangbangin' flap!  
Yo ass is up in safe handz (though I have none)  
For I be a Thinkin Cap!"

Da whole hall burst tha fuck into applause as tha basebizzle cap finished its song. Well shiiiit, it bowed ta each of tha four tablez n' then became like still again. "So we've just gots ta try on tha hat!" Ron whispered ta Harry. "I be bout ta bust a cap up in Fred, da thug was goin on bout wrestlin a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, tryin on tha basebizzle cap was a shitload betta than havin ta do a spell yo, but da ruffneck did wish they could have tried it on without mah playas watching. Da basebizzle cap seemed ta be askin rather alot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it all up in tha moment. If only tha basebizzle cap had mentioned a doggy den fo' playas whoz ass felt a lil' bit queasy, dat would done been tha one fo' his muthafuckin ass.

Pimp McGonagall now stepped forward holdin a long-ass roll of parchment.

"When I call yo' name, yo big-ass booty is ghon put on tha basebizzle cap n' sit on tha stool ta be sorted," her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Abbott, Hannah!"  
A pink-faced hoe wit blonde pigtails stumbled outta line, put on tha hat, which fell tha fuck right down over her eyes, n' sat down. A moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted tha hat.  
Da table on tha right hollared n' clapped as Hannah went ta sit tha fuck down all up in tha Hufflepuff table yo. Harry saw tha pimp of tha Fat Friar wavin merrily at her muthafuckin ass.  
"Bones, Susan!"  
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted tha basebizzle cap again, n' Susan scuttled off ta sit next ta Hannah.  
"Boot, Terry!"  
"RAVENCLAW!"  
Da table second from tha left clapped dis time; nuff muthafuckin Ravenclaws stood up ta shake handz wit Terry as he joined dem wild-ass muthafuckas.  
" Brocklehurst, Mandy" went ta Ravenclaw too yo, but "Brown, Lavender" became tha straight-up original gangsta freshly smoked up Gryffindor, n' tha table on tha far left blew up like a muthafucka wit cheers; Harry could peep Ronz twin brothers catcalling.  
"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps dat shiznit was Harryz imagination, afta all he'd heard bout Slytherin yo, but tha pimpin' muthafucka thought they looked like a unpleasant lot yo. Dude was startin ta feel definitely sick now yo. Dude remembered bein picked fo' crews durin gym at his oldschool school yo. Dude had always been last ta be chosen, not cuz da thug was no phat yo, but cuz no one wanted Dudley ta be thinkin they was horny bout his muthafuckin ass.  
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, tha basebizzle cap shouted up tha doggy den at once yo, but at others it took a lil while ta decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," tha sandy-haired pimp next ta Harry up in tha line, sat on tha stool fo' almost a whole minute before tha basebizzle cap declared his ass a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran ta tha stool n' jammed tha basebizzle cap eagerly on her head. "GRYFFINDOR!" shouted tha hat. Ron groaned.

A wack thought struck Harry, as wack thoughts always do when you straight-up nervous. What if da thug wasn't chosen at all, biatch? What if he just sat there wit tha basebizzle cap over his wild lil' fuckin eyes fo' ages, until Pimp McGonagall jerked it off his head n' holla'd there had obviously been a gangbangin' fuck up n' he'd betta git back on tha train?

When Neville Longbottom, tha pimp whoz ass kept losin his cold-ass toad, was called, he fell tha fuck over on his way ta tha stool. Da basebizzle cap took a long-ass time ta decizzle wit Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still bustin it, n' had ta jog back amid galez of laughta ta give it ta "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called n' gots his wish at once: tha basebizzle cap had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!" Malfoy went ta join his wild lil' playaz Crabbe n' Goyle, lookin pleased wit his dirty ass.

There weren't nuff playas left now, nahmeean, biatch? "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" n' "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" n' then, at last -- "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke up like lil hissin fires all over tha hall.

"Potter, did her big-ass booty say?"

Da Larry Potsmoker?"

Da last thang Harry saw before tha basebizzle cap dropped over his wild lil' fuckin eyes was tha hall full of playas cranin ta git a phat peep his muthafuckin ass. Next second da thug was lookin all up in tha black inside of tha hat yo. Dude waited.

Hmm," holla'd a lil' small-ass voice up in his wild lil' fuckin ear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Difficult. Straight-up difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass mind either n' shit. Therez talent, A mah goodness, yeaaaa -- n' a sick thirst ta prove yo ass, now thatz interesting....So where shall I put yo slick ass?"

Harry gripped tha edgez of tha stool n' thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" holla'd tha lil' small-ass voice. "Is you sure, biatch? Yo ass could be pimped out, you know, itz all here up in yo' head, n' Slytherin will help you on tha way ta pimped outness, no diggity bout dat -- no, biatch? Well, if you shizzle -- betta be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard tha basebizzle cap shout tha last word ta tha whole hall yo. Dude took off tha basebizzle cap n' strutted shakily toward tha Gryffindor table yo. Dude was so relieved ta done been chosen n' not put up in Slytherin, dat schmoooove muthafucka hardly noticed dat da thug was gettin tha loudest cheer yet. Percy tha Prefect gots up n' shook his hand vigorously, while tha Weasley twins yelled, "We gots Potter playa! We gots Potter!" Harry sat down opposite tha pimp up in tha ruff he'd peeped earlier n' shit. Da pimp patted his thugged-out arm, givin Harry tha sudden, wack feelin he'd just plunged it tha fuck into a funky-ass bucket of ice-cold water.

Dude could peep tha High Table properly now fo' realz. At tha end nearest his ass sat Hagrid, whoz ass caught his wild lil' fuckin eye n' gave his ass tha thumbs up yo. Harry grinned back fo' realz. And there, up in tha centa of tha High Table, up in a big-ass gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore yo. Harry recognized his ass at once from tha card he'd gotten outta tha Chocolate Frog on tha train. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dumbledorez silver afro was tha only thang up in tha whole hall dat shone as brightly as tha pimps yo. Harry spotted Pimp Quirtell, too, tha straight-up trippin lil' playa from tha Leaky Cauldron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude was lookin straight-up peculiar up in a big-ass purple turban.

And now there was only three playas left ta be sorted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "Thomas, Dean," a Black pimp even talla than Ron, joined Harry all up in tha Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw n' then dat shiznit was Ronz turn, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude was pale chronic by now yo. Harry crossed his wild lil' fingers under tha table n' a second lata tha basebizzle cap had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly wit tha rest as Ron collapsed tha fuck into tha chair next ta his muthafuckin ass.

"Well done, Ron, pimpin," holla'd Percy Weasley Pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise," was done cooked up a Slytherin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Pimp McGonagall rolled up her scroll n' took tha Sortin Hat away.

Harry looked down at his wild lil' fuckin empty gold plate yo. Dude had only just realized how tha fuck hangry da thug was. Da pumpkin pastizzles seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten ta his Nikes yo. Dude was beamin all up in tha hustlas, his thugged-out arms opened wide, as if not a god damn thang could have pleased his ass mo' than ta peep dem all there.

"Welcome," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Yo, wuz crackalackin', biatch? Yo ass is smokin a freshly smoked up year at Hogwarts muthafucka! Before we begin our banquet, I wanna say all dem lyrics fo' realz. And here they are: Nitwit son! Blubber playa! Oddment son! Tweak!

"Nuff props, nahmean biiiatch?"

Dude sat back down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. All Y'all clapped n' hollared. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Harry didn't give a fuck whether ta laugh or not.

"Is he -- a lil' bit mad?" he axed Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" holla'd Percy airily. "Dat punk a smart-ass ! Best wizzle up in tha ghetto hommie! But he be a lil' bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Harryz grill fell tha fuck open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da dishes up in front of his ass was now piled wit chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthafuckin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude had never peeped all kindsa muthafuckin thangs he was horny bout ta smoke on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops n' lamb chops, sausages, bacon n' steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshizzle pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, fo' some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

Da Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry yo, but he'd never been allowed ta smoke as much as he liked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dudley had always taken anythang dat Harry straight-up wanted, even if It made his ass sick yo. Harry piled his thugged-out lil' plate wit a lil' bit of every last muthafuckin thang except tha peppermints n' fuckin started ta eat. Dat shiznit was all delicious.

"That do look good," holla'd tha pimp up in tha ruff sadly, watchin Harry cut up his steak,

"Can't you --?"

I aint smoked fo' nearly four hundred years," holla'd tha pimp. "I don't need to, of course yo, but one do miss dat shit. I don't be thinkin I've up in troduced mah dirty ass, biatch? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at yo' service. Resident pimp of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know whoz ass yo ass is!" holla'd Ron suddenly. "My fuckin brothers holla'd at mah crazy ass bout you -- you Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you ta booty-call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy --" tha pimp fuckin started stiffly yo, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless, biatch? How tha fuck can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked mad miffed, as if they lil chat wasn't goin at all tha way da thug wanted.

"Like this," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd irritably yo. Dude seized his fuckin left ear n' pulled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! His whole head swung off his neck n' fell tha fuck onto his shoulder as if dat shiznit was on a hinge. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Someone had obviously tried ta behead his ass yo, but not done it properly. Lookin pleased all up in tha stunned looks on they faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, n' holla'd, "So -- freshly smoked up Gryffindors muthafucka! I hope you goin ta help our asses win tha doggy den championshizzle dis year, biatch? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Slytherins have gots tha cup six muthafuckin years up in a row! Da Bloody Baronz becomin almost unbearable -- tha pimpin' muthafucka tha Slytherin pimp."

Harry looked over all up in tha Slytherin table n' saw a wack pimp chillin there, wit blank starin eyes, a gaunt face, n' robes stained wit silver blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude was right next ta Malfoy who, Harry was pleased ta see, didn't look too pleased wit tha seatin arrangements.

"How tha fuck did he git covered up in blood?" axed Seamus wit pimped out interest.

"I've never asked," holla'd Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When mah playas had smoked as much as they could, tha remainz of tha chicken faded from tha plates, leavin dem sparklin clean as before fo' realz. A moment lata tha desserts rocked up. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Blockz of ice cream up in every last muthafuckin flavor you could be thinkin of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs n' jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice puddin -- "

As Harry helped his dirty ass ta a treacle tart, tha rap turned ta they crews.

"I be half-and-half," holla'd Seamus. "Me dadz a Muggle. Momma didn't tell his ass dat biiiiatch was a witch 'til afta they was married. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Bit of a nasty shock fo' his muthafuckin ass."

Da others laughed.

"What bout you, Neville?" holla'd Ron.

"Well, mah gran brought me up n' she a witch," holla'd Neville, "but tha crew thought I was all- Muggle fo' ages. My fuckin Great Uncle Algie kept tryin ta catch me off mah guard n' force some magic outta me -- he pushed mah crazy ass off tha end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but not a god damn thang happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round fo' dinner, n' da thug was hangin me outta a upstairs window by tha anklez when mah Great Auntie Enid offered his ass a meringue n' he accidentally let go. But I bounced -- all tha way down tha garden n' tha fuck into tha road. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They was all straight-up pleased, Gran was crying, dat biiiiatch was so horny fo' realz. And you  
should have peeped they faces when I gots up in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough ta come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased his thugged-out lil' punk-ass looted mah crazy ass mah toad."

On Harryz other side, Percy Weasley n' Hermione was poppin' off bout lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there be a so much ta learn, I be particularly horny bout Transfiguration, you know, turnin suttin' tha fuck into suttin' else, of course, itz supposed ta be straight-up difficult-You'll be startin small, just matches tha fuck into needlez n' dat sort of thang -- ").

Harry, whoz ass was startin ta feel warm n' chilly, looked up all up in tha High Table again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hagrid was drankin deeply from his wild lil' freakadelic goblet. Pimp McGonagall was poppin' off ta Pimp Dumbledore. Pimp Quirrell, up in his thugged-out absurd turban, was poppin' off ta a mackdaddy wit greasy black hair, a hooked nose, n' sallow skin.

It happened straight-up suddenly. Da hook-nosed mackdaddy looked past Quirrellz turban straight tha fuck into Harryz eyes -- n' a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp, bangin' pain blasted across tha scar on Harryz forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand ta his head.

"What tha fuck iz it?" axed Percy.

"N-nothing."

Da pain had gone as quickly as it had come yo. Harder ta shake off was tha feelin Harry had gotten from tha mackdaddyz look -- a gangbangin' feelin dat da ruffneck didn't like Harry at all.

"Whoz dat mackdaddy poppin' off ta Pimp Quirrell?" he axed Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do yo slick ass, biatch? No wonder he lookin so nervous, thatz Pimp Snape yo. Dude teaches Potions yo, but da ruffneck don't wanna -- mah playas knows he afta Quirrellz thang. Knows a wack lot bout tha Dark Arts, Snape."

Harry peeped Snape fo' a while yo, but Snape didn't peep his ass again.

At last, tha desserts too disappeared, n' Pimp Dumbledore gots ta his wild lil' feet again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da hall fell tha fuck silent.

"Ahern -- just all dem mo' lyrics now dat we is all fed n' watered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I gots all dem start-of-term notices ta give you, biatch.

"First muthafuckin years should note dat tha forest on tha groundz is forbidden ta all pupils fo' realz. And all dem of our olda hustlas would do well ta remember dat as well."

Dumbledorez twinklin eyes flashed up in tha direction of tha Weasley twins.

"I have also been axed by Mista Muthafuckin Filch, tha caretaker, ta remind you all dat no magic should be used between classes up in tha corridors.

"Quidditch trials is ghon be held up in tha second week of tha term fo' realz. Every Muthafucka horny bout playin fo' they doggy den crews should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must rap dat dis year, tha third-floor corridor on tha right-hand side is outta boundz ta all dem fools dat do not wish ta take a thugged-out dirtnap, a straight-up fucked up dirtnap."

Harry laughed yo, but da thug was one of tha few whoz ass done did.

"Dat punk not trippin like a muthafucka?" he muttered ta Percy.

"Must be," holla'd Percy, frownin at Dumbledore. "It aint nuthin but odd, cuz he probably gives our asses a reason why our asses aint allowed ta go somewhere -- tha forestz full of fucked up beasts, mah playas knows dis shit. I do be thinkin he might have holla'd at us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we git all up in bed, let our asses rap tha school song!" cried Dumbledore yo. Harry noticed dat tha other mackdaddys' smilez had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a lil flick, as if da thug was tryin ta git a gangbangin' fly off tha end, n' a long-ass golden ribbon flew outta it, which rose high above tha tablez n' twisted itself, snakelike, tha fuck into lyrics.

"Everyone pick they straight-up tune," holla'd Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And tha school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach our asses suttin' please,

Whether we be oldschool n' bald

Or lil' wit scabby knees,

Our headz could do wit filling

With some bangin-ass stuff,

For now they bare n' full of air,

Dead flies n' bitz of fluff,

So teach our asses thangs worth knowing,

Brin back what tha fuck we've forgot,

just do yo' best, we'll do tha rest,

And learn until our domes all rot.

All Y'all finished tha cold lil' woo wop at different times fo' realz. At last, only tha Weasley twins was left rappin along ta a straight-up slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted they last few lines wit his wand n' when they had finished, da thug was one of dem playas whoz ass clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, wipin his wild lil' fuckin eyes. "A magic beyond all our phat asses do here biaaatch! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Da Gryffindor first muthafuckin years followed Percy all up in tha chatterin crowds, outta tha Great Hall, n' up tha marble staircase. Harryz hairy-ass legs was like lead again yo, but only cuz da thug was so chillaxed n' full of chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthafuckin day, biatch. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Dude was too chilly even ta be surprised dat tha playas up in tha portraits along tha corridors whispered n' pointed as they passed, or dat twice Percy hustled dem all up in doorways hidden behind slidin panels n' hangin tapestries. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! They climbed mo' staircases, yawnin n' draggin they feet, n' Harry was just wonderin how tha fuck much farther they had ta go when they came ta a sudden halt.

A bundle of struttin sticks was floatin up in midair ahead of them, n' as Percy took a step toward dem they started throwin theyselves at his muthafuckin ass.

"Peeves," Percy whispered ta tha straight-up original gangsta years. "A poltergeist." Dude raised his voice, "Peeves -- show yo ass"

A loud, rude sound, like tha air bein let outta a funky-ass balloon, answered.

"Do you want me ta git all up in tha Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, n' a lil playa wit wicked, dark eyes n' a wide grill rocked up, floatin cross- legged up in tha air, clutchin tha struttin sticks.

"Oooooooh!" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, wit a evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties muthafucka! What fun!"

Dude swooped suddenly at dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or tha Baron'll hear bout this, I mean dat shiznit son!" barked Percy.

Peeves stuck up his cold-ass tongue n' vanished, droppin tha struttin sticks on Nevillez head. They heard his ass zoomin away, rattlin coatz of armor as he passed.

"Yo ass wanna peep up fo' Peeves," holla'd Percy, as they set off again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Da Bloody Baronz tha only one whoz ass can control him, da thug won't even dig our asses prefects yo. Here we are."

At tha straight-up end of tha corridor hung a portrait of a straight-up fat biatch up in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Caput Draconis," holla'd Percy, n' tha portrait swung forward ta reveal a round hole up in tha wall. They all scrambled all up in it -- Neville needed a leg up -- n' found theyselves up in tha Gryffindor common room, a cold-ass lil cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy pimped up tha hoes all up in one door ta they dormitory n' tha thugs all up in another n' shiznit fo' realz. At tha top of a spiral staircase -- they was obviously up in one of tha towers -- they found they bedz at last: five four-postas hung wit deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too chillaxed ta rap much, they pulled on they pajamas n' fell tha fuck into bed.

" Great chicken, aint it?" Ron muttered ta Harry all up in tha hangings. "Git off, Scabbers muthafucka! Dat punk chewin mah sheets."

Harry was goin ta ask Ron if he'd had any of tha treacle tart yo, but he fell tha fuck asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had smoked a lil' bit too much, cuz dat schmoooove muthafucka had a straight-up strange dream yo. Dude was bustin Pimp Quirrellz turban, which kept poppin' off ta him, spittin some lyrics ta his ass he must transfer ta Slytherin at once, cuz dat shiznit was his fuckin lil' destiny yo. Harry holla'd all up in tha turban da ruffneck didn't wanna be up in Slytherin; it gots heavier n' heavier; tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta pull it off but it tightened painfully -- n' there was Malfoy, bustin up at his ass as da perved-out muthafucka struggled wit it -then Malfoy turned tha fuck into tha hook-nosed mackdaddy, Snape, whose laugh became high n' cold -- there was a funky-ass burst of chronic light n' Harry woke, sweatin n' bobbin.

Dude rolled over n' fell tha fuck asleep again, n' when da thug woke next day, da ruffneck didn't remember tha trip at all.


	8. Da potion master

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next ta tha tall kid wit tha red hair."

"Bustin tha glasses?"

"Did yo dirty ass peep his wild lil' face?"

"Did yo dirty ass peep his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from tha moment he left his fuckin lil' dormitory tha next day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Muthafuckas linin up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe ta git a peep at him, or doubled back ta pass his ass up in tha corridors again, starin. Harry wished they wouldn't, cuz da thug was tryin ta concentrate on findin his way ta classes.

There was a hundred n' forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweepin ones; narrow, rickety ones; some dat hustled somewhere different on a Friday; some wit a vanishin step halfway up dat you had ta remember ta jump. Then there was doors dat wouldn't open unless you axed politely, or tickled dem up in exactly tha right place, n' doors dat weren't straight-up doors at all yo, but solid walls just pretending. Dat shiznit was also straight-up hard ta remember where anythang was, cuz all dat shiznit seemed ta move round all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Da playas up in tha portraits kept goin ta git on over ta each other, n' Harry was shizzle tha coatz of armor could strutt.

Da pimps didn't help, either n' shit. Dat shiznit was always a nasty shock when one of dem glided suddenly all up in a thugged-out door you was tryin ta open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Nearly Headless Nick was always aiiight ta point freshly smoked up Gryffindors up in tha right direction yo, but Peeves tha Poltergeist was worth two locked doors n' a trick staircase if you kicked it wit his ass when you was late fo' class yo. Dude would drop wastepaper baskets on yo' head, pull rugs from under yo' feet, pelt you wit bitz of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab yo' nose, n' screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if dat was possible, was tha caretaker, Argus Filch yo. Harry n' Ron managed ta git on tha wack side of his ass on they straight-up first morning. Filch found dem tryin ta force they way all up in a thugged-out door dat unluckily turned up ta be tha entrizzle ta tha out-of-boundz corridor on tha third floor yo. Dude wouldn't believe they was lost, was shizzle they was tryin ta break tha fuck into it on purpose, n' was threatenin ta lock dem up in tha dungeons when they was rescued by Pimp Quirrell, whoz ass was passing.

Filch owned a cold-ass lil pussaaaaay called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature wit bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch patrolled tha corridors ridin' solo. Break a rule up in front of her, put just one toe outta line, n' she'd whisk off fo' Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two secondz later n' shit. Filch knew tha secret passagewayz of tha school betta than mah playas (except like tha Weasley twins) n' could pop up as suddenly as any of tha pimps. Da hustlas all hated him, n' dat shiznit was tha dearest ambizzle of nuff ta give Mrs. Norris a phat kick.

And then, once you had managed ta find them, there was tha classes theyselves. There was a shitload mo' ta magic, as Harry quickly found out, than wavin yo' wand n' sayin all dem funky lyrics.

They had ta study tha night skies all up in they telescopes every last muthafuckin Wednesdizzle at midnight n' learn tha namez of different stars n' tha movementz of tha hoods. Three times a week they went up ta tha greenhouses behind tha castle ta study Herbology, wit a thugged-out dumpy lil witch called Pimp Sprout, where they hustled how tha fuck ta take care of all tha strange plants n' fungi, n' found up what tha fuck they was used for.

Easily da most thugged-out borin class was History of Magic, which was tha only one taught by a pimp. Pimp Binns had been straight-up old indeed when dat schmoooove muthafucka had fallen asleep up in front of tha staff room fire n' gots up next mornin ta teach, leavin his body behind his muthafuckin ass. Binns droned on n' on while they scribbled down names n' dates, n' gots Emetic tha Evil n' Uric tha Oddbizzle mixed up.

Pimp Flitwick, tha Charms mackdaddy, was a tiny lil wizzle whoz ass had ta stand on a pile of books ta peep over his fuckin lil' desk fo' realz. At tha start of they first class tha pimpin' muthafucka took tha roll call, n' when he reached Harryz name he gave a buckwild squeak n' toppled outta sight.

Pimp McGonagall was again n' again n' again different yo. Harry had been like right ta be thinkin dat biiiiatch wasn't a mackdaddy ta cross. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Strict n' def, she gave dem a rappin'-to tha moment they sat down up in her first class.

"Transfiguration be a shitload of da most thugged-out complex n' fucked up magic yo big-ass booty is ghon learn at Hogwarts," her big-ass booty holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Every Muthafucka messin round up in mah class will leave n' not come back. Yo ass done been warned."

Then dat thugged-out biiiatch chizzled her desk tha fuck into a pig n' back again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They was all straight-up impressed n' couldn't wait ta git started yo, but soon realized they weren't goin ta be changin tha furniture tha fuck into muthafuckas fo' a long-ass time fo' realz. Afta takin a shitload of fucked up notes, they was each given a match n' started tryin ta turn it tha fuck into a needle. By tha end of tha lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference ta her match; Pimp McGonagall flossed tha class how tha fuck it had gone all silver n' pointy n' gave Hermione a rare smile.

Da class mah playas had straight-up been lookin forward ta was Defense Against tha Dark Arts yo, but Quirrellz lessons turned up ta be a lil' bit of a joke yo. His classroom smelled straight fuckin of garlic, which mah playas holla'd was ta ward off a vampire he'd kicked it wit up in Romania n' was afraid would be comin back ta git his ass one of these days yo. His turban, tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at them, had been given ta his ass by a African pimp as a thank-you fo' gettin rid of a shitsome zombie yo, but they weren't shizzle they believed dis story. For one thang, when Seamus Finnigan axed eagerly ta git up in ta how tha fuck Quirrell had fought off tha zombie, Quirrell went pink n' started poppin' off bout tha weather; fo' another, they had noticed dat a gangbangin' funky smell hung round tha turban, n' tha Weasley twins insisted dat dat shiznit was stuffed full of garlic as well, so dat Quirrell was protected wherever da thug went.

Harry was straight-up relieved ta smoke up dat da thug wasn't milez behind any suckas. Lotz of playas had come from Muggle crews and, like him, hadn't had any scam dat they was witches n' wizzles. There was so much ta learn dat even playas like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Fridizzle was a blingin dizzle fo' Harry n' Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They finally managed ta find they way down ta tha Great Hall fo' breakfast without gettin lost once.

"What have we gots todizzle?" Harry axed Ron as he poured sugar on his thugged-out lil' porridge.

"Double Potions wit tha Slytherins," holla'd Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Snapez Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors dem -- we'll be able ta peep if itz true."

"Wish McGonagall favored us, " holla'd Harry. Pimp McGonagall was head of Gryffindor Doggy Den yo, but it hadn't stopped her from givin dem a big-ass pile of homework tha dizzle before.

Just then, tha mail arrived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Harry had gotten used ta dis by now yo, but it had given his ass a lil' bit of a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shock on tha straight-up original gangsta morning, when on some hundred owls had suddenly streamed tha fuck into tha Great Hall durin breakfast, circlin tha tablez until they saw they ballers, n' droppin lettas n' packages onto they laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anythang so far. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch sometimes flew up in ta nibble his wild lil' fuckin ear n' gotz a lil' bit of toast before goin off ta chill up in tha owlery wit tha other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between tha marmalade n' tha sugar bowl n' dropped a note onto Harryz plate yo. Harry tore it open at once. Well shiiiit, it holla'd, up in a straight-up untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you git Fridizzle afternoons off, so would you like ta come n' have  
a cup of chronic wit me round three, biatch? I wanna hear all bout yo' first week. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Send our asses an answer back wit Hedwig.  
Hagrid

Harry borrowed Ronz quill, scribbled Yes, please, peep you lata on tha back of tha note, n' busted Hedwig off again.

Dat shiznit was dirty dat Harry had chronic wit Hagrid ta look forward to, cuz tha Potions lesson turned up ta be da most thugged-out shitty thang dat had happened ta his ass so far.

At tha start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten tha scam dat Pimp Snape disliked his muthafuckin ass. By tha end of tha straight-up original gangsta Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Snape didn't dislike Harry -- dat schmoooove muthafucka hated his muthafuckin ass.

Potions lessons took place down up in one of tha dungeons. Dat shiznit was colda here than up in tha main castle, n' would done been like creepy enough without tha pickled muthafuckas floatin up in glass jars all round tha walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started tha class by takin tha roll call, n' like Flitwick, he paused at Harryz name.

"Ah, Yes," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd softly, "Larry Potsmoker n' shit. Our freshly smoked up -- celebrity."

Draco Malfoy n' his wild lil' playaz Crabbe n' Goyle sniggered behind they hands. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Snape finished callin tha names n' looked up all up in tha class yo. His eyes was black like Hagridz yo, but they had none of Hagridz warmth. They was cold n' empty n' made you be thinkin of dark tunnels.

"Yo ass is here ta learn tha subtle science n' exact art of potionmaking," his thugged-out lil' punk-ass fuckin started. Dude was rappin up in barely mo' than a whisper yo, but they caught every last muthafuckin word -- like Pimp McGonagall, Snape had tha gift of keepin a cold-ass lil class silent without effort. "As there is lil foolish wand-wavin here, nuff of yo big-ass booty is ghon hardly believe dis is magic. I don't expect yo big-ass booty is ghon straight-up KNOW tha beauty of tha softly simmerin cauldron wit its shimmerin fumes, tha delicate juice of liquidz dat creep all up in human veins, bewitchin tha mind, ensnarin tha senses.... I can teach you how tha fuck ta forty fame, brew glory, even stopper in dirtnaps -- if yo ass aint as big-ass a funky-ass bunch of dunderheadz as I probably gotta teach."

Mo' silence followed dis lil rap yo. Harry n' Ron exchanged looks wit raised eyebrows yo. Hermione Granger was on tha edge of her seat n' looked desperate ta start provin dat dat biiiiatch wasn't a thugged-out dunderhead.

"Potter!" holla'd Snape suddenly. "What would I git if I added powdered root of asphodel ta a infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what tha fuck ta a infusion of what, biatch? Harry glanced at Ron, whoz ass looked as stumped as da thug was; Hermionez hand had blasted tha fuck into tha air.

"I don't give a fuck, sit," holla'd Harry.

Snapez lips curled tha fuck into a sneer.

"Tut, tut -- hype clearly aint every last muthafuckin thang."

Dude ignored Hermionez hand.

"Letz try again. Potter, where would you look if I holla'd at you ta find mah crazy ass a funky-ass bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high tha fuck into tha air as it would go without her leavin her seat yo, but Harry didn't have tha faintest scam what tha fuck a funky-ass bezoar was yo. Dude tried not ta peep Malfoy, Crabbe, n' Goyle, whoz ass was bobbin wit laughter.

"I don't give a fuck, sit."   
"Thought you wouldn't open a funky-ass book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry forced his dirty ass ta keep lookin straight tha fuck into dem cold eyes yo. Dude had looked all up in his books all up in tha Dursleys' yo, but did Snape expect his ass ta remember every last muthafuckin thang up in One Thousand Magical Herbs n' Fungi?

Snape was still ignorin Hermionez quiverin hand.

"What tha fuck iz tha difference, Potter, between monkshood n' wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretchin toward tha dungeon ceiling.

"I don't give a fuck," holla'd Harry on tha fuckin' down-lowly. "I be thinkin Hermione do, though, why don't you try her?"

A few playas laughed; Harry caught Seamuss eye, n' Seamus winked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," da perved-out muthafucka snapped at Hermione. "For yo' shiznit, Potter, asphodel n' wormwood cook up a chillin potion so bangin it is known as tha Draught of Livin Dirtnap fo' realz. A bezoar be a stone taken from tha stomach of a goat n' it will save you from most poisons fo' realz. As fo' monkshood n' wolfsbane, they is tha same plant, which also goes by tha name of aconite. Well, biatch? Why aren't you all copyin dat down?"

There was a sudden rummagin fo' quills n' parchment. Over tha noise, Snape holla'd, "And a point is ghon be taken from Gryffindor Doggy Den fo' yo' cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve fo' tha Gryffindors as tha Potions lesson continued. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Snape put dem all tha fuck into pairs n' set dem ta mixin up a simple potion ta cure boils yo. Dude swept round up in his fuckin long black cloak, watchin dem weigh dried nettlez n' crush snake fangs, dissin almost mah playas except Malfoy, whom da perved-out muthafucka seemed ta like yo. Dude was just spittin some lyrics ta mah playas ta peep tha slick way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when cloudz of acid chronic smoke n' a funky-ass bangin hissin filled tha dungeon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Neville had somehow managed ta melt Seamuss cauldron tha fuck into a twisted blob, n' they potion was seepin across tha stone floor, burnin holez up in peoplez shoes. Within seconds, tha whole class was standin on they stools while Neville, whoz ass had been drenched up in tha potion when tha cauldron collapsed, moaned up in pain as mad salty red boils sprang up all over his thugged-out arms n' legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearin tha spilled potion away wit one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added tha porcupine quills before takin tha cauldron off tha fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started ta pop up all over his nose.

"Take his ass up ta tha hospitizzle wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry n' Ron, whoz ass had been hustlin next ta Neville.

"Yo ass -- Potta -- why didn't you tell his ass not ta add tha quills, biatch? Thought he'd make you look phat if he gots it wrong, did yo slick ass, biatch? Thatz another point you've lost fo' Gryffindor."

This was so unfair dat Harry opened his crazy-ass grill ta argue yo, but Ron kicked his ass behind they cauldron.

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn straight-up nasty."

As they climbed tha steps outta tha dungeon a minute later, Harryz mind was racin n' his spirits was low yo. He'd lost two points fo' Gryffindor up in his straight-up first week -- why did Snape give such a shit bout his ass, biatch? "Cheer up," holla'd Ron, "Snapez always takin points off Fred n' George. Can I come n' hook up Hagrid wit yo slick ass?"

At five ta three they left tha castle n' made they way across tha groundz yo. Hagrid lived up in a lil' small-ass wooden doggy den on tha edge of tha forbidden forest fo' realz. A crossbow n' a pair of galoshes was outside tha front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a gangbangin' frantic scrabblin from inside n' nuff muthafuckin boomin barks. Then Hagridz voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang, back."

Hagridz big, hairy grill rocked up in tha crack as he pulled tha door open.

"Hang on," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "Back, Fang."

Dude let dem in, strugglin ta keep a hold on tha collar of a enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside yo. Hams n' pheasants was hangin from tha ceiling, a cold-ass lil copper kettle was boilin on tha open fire, n' up in tha corner stood a massive bed wit a patchwork quilt over dat shit.

"Make yerselves at home," holla'd Hagrid, lettin go of Fang, whoz ass bounded straight at Ron n' started lickin his wild lil' fuckin ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry holla'd at Hagrid, whoz ass was pourin boilin wata tha fuck into a big-ass teapot n' puttin rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" holla'd Hagrid, glancin at Ronz freckles. I dropped half me game chasin' yer twin brothers away from tha forest."

Da rock cakes was shapeless lumps wit raisins dat almost broke they teeth yo, but Harry n' Ron pretended ta be trippin' off dem as they holla'd at Hagrid all bout they first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harryz knee n' drooled all over his bangin robes.

Harry n' Ron was delighted ta hear Hagrid call Fitch "that oldschool git."

"An' as fer dat cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ta introduce her ta Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every last muthafuckin time I go up ta tha school, she bigs up me everywhere, biatch? Can't git rid of her -- Fitch puts her up ta dat shit."

Harry holla'd at Hagrid bout Snapez lesson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hagrid, like Ron, holla'd at Harry not ta worry bout it, dat Snape was horny bout hardly any of tha hustlas.

"But da perved-out muthafucka seemed ta give a shit bout mah dirty ass."

"Rubbish!" holla'd Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Why should he?"

Yet Harry couldn't help thankin dat Hagrid didn't like hook up his wild lil' fuckin eyes when da perved-out muthafucka holla'd that.

"Howz yer brutha Charlie?" Hagrid axed Ron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "I liked his ass a shitload --great wit muthafuckas."

Harry wondered if Hagrid had chizzled tha subject on purpose. While Ron  
told Hagrid all bout Charliez work wit dragons, Harry picked up a  
piece of paper dat was lyin on tha table under tha chronic cozy. Dat shiznit was a  
cuttin from tha Daily Prophet:

Gringotts sickest fuckin break in  
Investigations continue tha fuck into tha break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed ta be tha work of Dark wizzlez or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins todizzle insisted dat not a god damn thang had been taken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da vault dat was searched had up in fact been emptied tha same day.

"But our asses aint spittin some lyrics ta you what tha fuck was up in there, so keep yo' noses up if you know whatz phat fo' you," holla'd a Gringotts spokesgoblin dis afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron spittin some lyrics ta his ass on tha train dat one of mah thugs had tried ta rob Gringotts yo, but Ron hadn't mentioned tha date.

"Hagrid!" holla'd Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on mah birthdizzle dawwwwg! It might've been goin' down while we was there!"

There was no diggity bout it, Hagrid definitely didn't hook up Harryz eyes dis time yo. Dude grunted n' offered his ass another rock cake yo. Harry read tha rap again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da vault dat was searched had up in fact been emptied earlier dat same day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred n' thirteen, if you could call it emptying, takin up dat grubby lil package yo. Had dat been what tha fuck tha gangbangas was lookin for?

As Harry n' Ron strutted back ta tha castle fo' dinner, they pockets weighed down wit rock cakes they'd been too polite ta refuse, Harry thought dat none of tha lessons he'd had so far had given his ass as much ta be thinkin bout as chronic wit Hagrid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Had Hagrid collected dat package just up in time, biatch? Where was it now, biatch? And did Hagrid know suttin' bout Snape dat da ruffneck didn't wanna tell Harry?


	9. Da midnight duel

Harry had never believed da thug would hook up a funky-ass pimp dat schmoooove muthafucka hated mo' than Dudley yo, but dat was before he kicked it wit Draco Malfoy. Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions wit tha Slytherins, so they didn't gotta put up wit Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in tha Gryffindor common room dat made dem all groan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Flyin lessons would be startin on Thursdizzle -- n' Gryffindor n' Slytherin would be peepin' together n' shit. "Typical," holla'd Harry darkly. "Just what tha fuck I always wanted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. To cook up a gangbangin' fool of mah dirty ass on a funky-ass broomstick up in front of Malfoy."

Dude had been lookin forward ta peepin' ta fly mo' than anythang else.

"Yo ass don't give a fuck dat you gonna cook up a gangbangin' fool of yo ass," holla'd Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoyz always goin on bout how tha fuck phat he be at Quidditch yo, but I bet thatz all talk."

Malfoy certainly did rap bout flyin all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Dude complained loudly bout first muthafuckin years never gettin on tha doggy den Quidditch crews n' holla'd at long, boastful stories dat always seemed ta end wit his ass narrowly escapin Mugglez up in helicoptas yo. Dude wasn't tha only one, though: tha way Seamus Finnigan holla'd at it, he'd dropped most of his childhood zoomin round tha ghettoside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell mah playas who'd listen bout tha time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charliez oldschool broom. Everyone from wizzlein crews talked bout Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a funky-ass big-ass argument wit Dean Thomas, whoz ass shared they dormitory, bout soccer n' shit. Ron couldn't peep what tha fuck was bangin on some game wit only one bizzle where no one was allowed ta fly yo. Harry had caught Ron proddin Deanz posta of Westside Ham soccer crew, tryin ta make tha playas move.

Neville had never been on a funky-ass broomstick up in his wild lil' freakadelic game, cuz his wild lil' freakadelic grandmutha had never let his ass near one. Privately, Harry felt she'd had phat reason, cuz Neville managed ta have a extraordinary number of accidents even wit both feet on tha ground.

Hermione Granger was almost as straight-up trippin bout flyin as Neville was. This was suttin' you couldn't learn by ass outta a funky-ass book -- not dat da freaky deaky biatch hadn't tried. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! At breakfast on Thursdizzle da hoe bugged out dem all wack wit flyin tips she'd gotten outta a library book called Quidditch Through tha Ages. Neville was hangin on ta her every last muthafuckin word, desperate fo' anythang dat might help his ass hang on ta his broomstick later yo, but dem hoes else was straight-up pleased when Hermionez lecture was interrupted by tha arrival of tha mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letta since Hagridz note, suttin' dat Malfoy had been quick ta notice, of course. Malfoyz eagle owl was always brangin his ass packagez of dopes from home, which he opened gloatingly all up in tha Slytherin table.

A barn owl brought Neville a lil' small-ass package from his wild lil' freakadelic grandmutha n' shiznit yo. Dude opened it excitedly n' flossed dem a glass bizzle tha size of a big-ass marble, which seemed ta be full of white smoke.

"It aint nuthin but a Remembrall!" he explained. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Gran knows I forget thangs -- dis drops some lyrics ta you if there be a suttin' you've forgotten ta do. Look, you hold it tight like dis n' if it turns red -- oh..." His grill fell, cuz tha Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet,

"You've forgotten something..."

Neville was tryin ta remember what tha fuck he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, whoz ass was passin tha Gryffindor table, snatched tha Remembrall outta his hand.

Harry n' Ron jumped ta they Nikes. They was half hopin fo' a reason ta fight Malfoy yo, but Pimp McGonagall, whoz ass could spot shiznit quicker than any mackdaddy up in tha school, was there up in a gangbangin' flash.

"Whatz goin on?"

"Malfoyz gots mah Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped tha Remembrall back on tha table.

"Just looking," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, n' da perved-out muthafucka sloped away wit Crabbe n' Goyle behind his muthafuckin ass.

At three-thirty dat afternoon, Harry, Ron, n' tha other Gryffindors hurried down tha front steps onto tha groundz fo' they first flyin lesson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat shiznit was a cold-ass lil clear, breezy day, n' tha grass rippled under they feet as they marched down tha slopin lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on tha opposite side of tha groundz ta tha forbidden forest, whose trees was swayin darkly up in tha distance.

Da Slytherins was already there, n' so was twenty broomsticks lyin up in neat lines on tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Harry had heard Fred n' George Weasley diss bout tha school brooms, sayin dat a shitload of dem started ta vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly ta tha left.

Their mackdaddy, Madam Hooch, arrived. Biatch had short, gray hair, n' yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what tha fuck is you all waitin for?" da hoe barked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Everyone stand by a funky-ass broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry glanced down at his broom. Dat shiznit was oldschool n' a shitload of tha twigs stuck up at odd angles.

"Stick up yo' right hand over yo' broom," called Madam Hooch all up in tha front, "and say 'Up!"'

"Up!" mah playas shouted.

Harryz broom jumped tha fuck into his hand at once yo, but dat shiznit was one of tha few dat done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hermione Grangerz had simply rolled over on tha ground, n' Nevillez hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you was afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver up in Nevillez voice dat holla'd only too clearly dat da thug wanted ta keep his wild lil' feet on tha ground.

Madam Hooch then flossed dem how tha fuck ta mount they brooms without slidin off tha end, n' strutted up n' down tha rows erectin they grips yo. Harry n' Ron was delighted when dat dunkadelic hoe holla'd at Malfoy he'd been bustin it wack fo' years.

"Now, when I blow mah whistle, you kick off from tha ground, hard," holla'd Madam Hooch. "Keep yo' brooms steady, rise all dem feet, n' then come straight back down by leanin forward slightly. On mah whistle -- three -- two --"

But Neville, straight-up trippin n' jumpy n' frightened of bein left on tha ground, pushed off hard before tha whistle had touched Madam Hoochz lips.

"Come back, boy!" her big-ass booty shouted yo, but Neville was risin straight up like a cold-ass lil cork blasted outta a funky-ass forty -- twelve feet -- twenty Nikes yo. Harry saw his scared white grill look down all up in tha ground fallin away, saw his ass gasp, slip sideways off tha broom n' --

WHAM -- a thud n' a nasty crack n' Neville lay facedown on tha grass up in a heap yo. His broomstick was still risin higher n' higher, n' started ta drift lazily toward tha forbidden forest n' outta sight.

Madam Hooch was bendin over Neville, her grill as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter n' shit. "Come on, pimp -- itz all right, up you get.".

Bitch turned ta tha rest of tha class.

"None of y'all is ta move while I take dis pimp ta tha hospitizzle wing! Yo ass leave dem brooms where they is or you gonna be outta Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his wild lil' grill tear-streaked, clutchin his wrist, hobbled off wit Madam Hooch, whoz ass had her arm round his muthafuckin ass.

No sooner was they outta earshot than Malfoy burst tha fuck into laughter.

"Did yo dirty ass peep his wild lil' face, tha pimped out lump?"

Da other Slytherins joined in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, stickin up fo' Longbottom?" holla'd Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat lil crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" holla'd Malfoy, dartin forward n' snatchin suttin' outta tha grass. "It aint nuthin but dat wack thang Longbottomz gran busted his muthafuckin ass."

Da Remembrall glittered up in tha sun as dat schmoooove muthafucka held it up.

"Give dat here, Malfoy," holla'd Harry on tha fuckin' down-lowly. Everyone stopped poppin' off ta watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I be thinkin I be bout ta leave it somewhere fo' Longbottom ta find -- how tha fuck bout -- up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled yo, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick n' taken off yo. Dude hadn't been lying, his schmoooove ass could fly well yo. Hoverin level wit tha topmost branchez of a oak his schmoooove ass called, "Come n' git it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger n' shit. "Madam Hooch holla'd at our asses not ta move, you gonna git our asses all tha fuck into shit."

Harry ignored her. Blood was poundin up in his wild lil' fuckin ears. Dude mounted tha broom n' kicked hard against tha ground n' up, up da perved-out muthafucka soared; air rushed all up in his hair, n' his bangin robes whipped up behind his ass -and up in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found suttin' his schmoooove ass could do without bein taught -- dis was easy as fuck , dis was straight-up dope naaahhmean, biatch? Dude pulled his broomstick up a lil ta take it even higher, n' heard screams n' gaspz of hoes back on tha ground n' a admirin whoop from Ron.

Dude turned his broomstick sharply ta grill Malfoy up in midair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here," Harry called, "or I be bout ta knock you off dat broom!" 

"Oh, yeah?" holla'd Malfoy, tryin ta sneer yo, but lookin worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what tha fuck ta do yo. Dude leaned forward n' grasped tha broom tightly up in both hands, n' it blasted toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just gots outta tha way up in time; Harry done cooked up a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp about-face n' held tha broom steady fo' realz. A few playas below was clapping.

"No Crabbe n' Goyle up here ta save yo' neck, Malfoy," Harry called.

Da same thought seemed ta have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" da perved-out muthafucka shouted, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka threw tha glass bizzle high tha fuck into tha air n' streaked back toward tha ground.

Harry saw, as though up in slow motion, tha bizzle rise up in tha air n' then start ta fall. Dude leaned forward n' pointed his broom handle down -- next second da thug was gatherin speed up in a steep dive, racin tha bizzle -- wind whistled up in his wild lil' fuckin ears, mingled wit tha screamz of playas watchin -- da perved-out muthafucka stretched up his hand -- a gangbangin' foot from tha ground his schmoooove ass caught it, just up in time ta pull his broom straight, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka toppled gently onto tha grass wit tha Remembrall clutched safely up in his wild lil' fist.

"Larry Potsmoker!" His ass sank fasta than he'd just dived. Pimp McGonagall was hustlin toward dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Dude gots ta his wild lil' feet, trembling.

"Never -- up in all mah time at Hogwarts --"

Pimp McGonagall was almost speechless wit shock, n' her glasses flashed furiously, "-- how tha fuck dare you -- might have fucked up yo' neck --"

"It wasn't his wild lil' fault, Pimp --"

"Be on tha fuckin' down-low, Miss Patil

"But Malfoy --"

"Thatz enough, Mista Muthafuckin Weasley. Potter, gangbang me, now, nahmeean?"

Harry caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, n' Goylez triumphant faces as he left, struttin numbly up in Pimp McGonagallz wake as her big-ass booty strode toward tha castle yo. Dude was goin ta be expelled, he just knew it yo. Dude wanted ta say suttin' ta defend his dirty ass yo, but there seemed ta be suttin' wack wit his voice. Pimp McGonagall was sweepin along without even lookin at him; dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta jog ta keep up. Now he'd done it, dude hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packin his bags up in ten minutes. What would tha Dursleys say when tha pimpin' muthafucka turned up on tha stoop?

Up tha front steps, up tha marble staircase inside, n' still Pimp McGonagall didn't say shiznit ta his muthafuckin ass. Biatch wrenched open doors n' marched along corridors wit Harry trottin miserably behind her. Maybe dat biiiiatch was takin his ass ta Dumbledore yo. Dude thought of Hagrid, expelled but allowed ta stay on as gamekeeper n' shit. Perhaps his schmoooove ass could be Hagridz assistant yo. His stomach twisted as he imagined it, watchin Ron n' tha others becomin wizzles, while he stumped round tha groundz carryin Hagridz bag.

Pimp McGonagall stopped outside a cold-ass lil classroom. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch opened tha door n' poked her head inside.

"Excuse me, Pimp Flitwick, could I borrow Wood fo' a moment?"

Wood, biatch? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cold-ass lil cane dat biiiiatch was goin ta use on him?

But Wood turned up ta be a person, a funky-ass burly fifth-year pimp whoz ass came outta Flitwickz class lookin confused.

"Big up me, you two," holla'd Pimp McGonagall, n' they marched on up tha corridor, Wood lookin curiously at Harry.

"In here."

Pimp McGonagall pointed dem tha fuck into a cold-ass lil classroom dat was empty except fo' Peeves, whoz ass was busy as a muthafucka freestylin rude lyrics on tha blackboard.

"Out, Peeves!" da hoe barked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Peeves threw tha chalk tha fuck into a funky-ass bin, which clanged loudly, n' da perved-out muthafucka swooped up cursing. Pimp McGonagall slammed tha door behind his ass n' turned ta grill tha two thugs.

"Potter, dis is Oliver Wood. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Wood -- I've found you a Seeker."

Woodz expression chizzled from puzzlement ta delight.

"Is you serious, Professor?"

"Absolutely," holla'd Pimp McGonagall crisply. "Da boyz a natural. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I never peeped anythang like dat. Was dat yo' first time on a funky-ass broomstick, Potter?"

Harry nodded silently yo. Dude ain't gotz a cold-ass lil clue what tha fuck was goin on yo, but da ruffneck didn't seem ta be bein expelled, n' a shitload of tha feelin started comin back ta his fuckin legs.

"Dude caught dat thang up in his hand afta a gangbangin' fifty-foot dive," Pimp McGonagall holla'd at Wood. "Didn't even scratch his dirty ass. Charlie Weasley couldn't have done dat shit."

Wood was now lookin as though all his cold-ass trips had come legit at once.

"Ever peeped a game of Quidditch, Potter?" he axed excitedly.

"Woodz captain of tha Gryffindor crew," Pimp McGonagall explained.

"Dat punk just tha build fo' a Seeker, too," holla'd Wood, now struttin round Harry n' starin at his muthafuckin ass. "Light -- speedy -- we'll gotta git his ass a thugged-out decent broom, Pimp -- a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."

I shall drop a rhyme ta Pimp Dumbledore n' peep if we can't bend tha first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a funky-ass betta crew than last year. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Flattened up in dat last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape up in tha grill fo' weeks...."

Pimp McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry.

"I wanna hear you hustlin hard, Potter, or I may chizzle mah mind bout punishin you, biatch."

Then her big-ass booty suddenly smiled.

"Yo crazy-ass daddy would done been proud," she holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Dude was a pimpin Quidditch playa his dirty ass."

"Yo ass is clownin."

Dat shiznit was dinnertime yo. Harry had just finished spittin some lyrics ta Ron what tha fuck had happened when he'd left tha groundz wit Pimp McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak n' kidney pie halfway ta his crazy-ass grill yo, but he'd forgotten all bout dat shit.

"Seeker?" da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "But first muthafuckin years never -- you must be tha youngest doggy den playa up in on some cold-ass lil century" holla'd Ron, Harry shovelin pie tha fuck into his crazy-ass grill yo. Dude felt particularly horny afta tha excitement of tha afternoon. "Wood holla'd at mah dirty ass."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat n' gaped at Harry.

"I start hustlin next week," holla'd Harry. "Only don't tell mah playas, Wood wants ta keep it a secret."

Fred n' George Weasley now came tha fuck into tha hall, spotted Harry, n' hurried over.

"Well done," holla'd George up in a low voice. "Wood holla'd at us. We on tha crew too -- Beaters."

"I say, we goin ta win dat Quidditch cup fo' shizzle dis year," holla'd Fred. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "We aint won since Charlie left yo, but dis yearz crew is goin ta be solid. Yo ass must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skippin when tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at us."

"Anyway, we've gots ta go, Lee Jordan reckons he found a freshly smoked up secret passageway outta tha school."

"Bet itz dat one behind tha statue of Gregory tha Smarmy dat we found up in our first week. See you, biatch."

Fred n' George had hardly disappeared when one of mah thugs far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe n' Goyle.

"Havin a last meal, Potter? When is you gettin tha train back ta tha Muggles?"

"Yo ass be a shitload braver now dat you back on tha ground n' you've gots yo' lil playaz wit you," holla'd Harry coolly. There waz of course not a god damn thang at all lil bout Crabbe n' Goyle, but as tha High Table was full of mackdaddys, neither of dem could do mo' than crack they knucklez n' scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on mah own," holla'd Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizardz duel. Wandz only -- no contact. Whatz tha matter, biatch? Never heard of a wizzlez duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course dat schmoooove muthafucka has," holla'd Ron, wheelin around. "I be his second, whoz yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe n' Goyle, sizin dem up.

"Crabbe," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Midnight all right, biatch? We bout ta hook up in tha trophy room; thatz always unlocked."

When Malfoy had gone, Ron n' Harry looked at each other n' shit. "What tha fuck iz a wizzlez duel?" holla'd Harry. "And what tha fuck do you mean, you mah second?"

"Well, a secondz there ta take over if you die," holla'd Ron casually, gettin started at last on his cold pie. Catchin tha look on Harryz face, he added quickly, "But playas only take a thugged-out dirtnap up in proper duels, you know, wit real wizzles. Da most you n' Malfoy'll be able ta do is bust sparks at each other n' shit. Neither of y'all knows enough magic ta do any real damage. I bet he expected you ta refuse, anyway."

"And what tha fuck if I wave mah wand n' not a god damn thang happens?"

"Throw it away n' punch his ass on tha nose," Ron suggested. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. 

"Excuse mah dirty ass." They both looked up. Dat shiznit was Hermione Granger.

"Can't a thug smoke up in peace up in dis place?" holla'd Ron.

Hermione ignored his ass n' was rappin ta Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearin what tha fuck you n' Malfoy was sayin --"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"--and you mustn't go wanderin round tha school at night, be thinkin of tha points you gonna lose Gryffindor if you caught, n' you bound ta be. It aint nuthin but straight-up selfish of you, biatch."

"And itz straight-up none of yo' bidnizz," holla'd Harry.

"Good-bye," holla'd Ron.

All tha same, it wasn't what tha fuck you'd call tha slick end ta tha day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much lata listenin ta Dean n' Seamus fallin asleep (Neville wasn't back from tha hospitizzle wing). Ron had dropped all evenin givin his ass lyrics like fuckin "If tha pimpin' muthafucka tries ta curse you, you'd betta dodge it, cuz I can't remember how tha fuck ta block dem wild-ass muthafuckas." There was a straight-up phat chizzle they was goin ta git caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, n' Harry felt da thug was pushin his fuckin luck, breakin another school rule todizzle. It make me wanna hollar playa! On tha other hand, Malfoys sneerin grill kept loomin up outta tha darknizz - dis was his big-ass chizzle ta beat Malfoy face-to-face yo. Dude couldn't miss dat shit.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "we'd betta go."

They pulled on they bathrobes, picked up they wands, n' crept across tha tower room, down tha spiral staircase, n' tha fuck into tha Gryffindor common room fo' realz. A few embers was still glowin up in tha fireplace, turnin all tha armchairs tha fuck into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached tha portrait hole when a voice was rappin from tha chair nearest them, "I can't believe you goin ta do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on. Dat shiznit was Hermione Granger, bustin a pink bathrobe n' a gangbangin' frown.

"You!" holla'd Ron furiously. "Go back ta bed!"

"I almost holla'd at yo' brother," Hermione snapped, "Percy -- he's a prefect, he'd put a stop ta this."

Harry couldn't believe mah playas could be all kindsa interfering.

"Come on," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd ta Ron. Dude pushed open tha portrait of tha Fat Lady n' climbed all up in tha hole.

Hermione wasn't goin ta give up dat doggystyle. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch followed Ron all up in tha portrait hole, hissin at dem like a mad salty goose.

"Don't you care bout Gryffindor, do you only care bout yourselves, I don't want Slytherin ta win tha doggy den cup, n' you gonna lose all tha points I gots from Pimp McGonagall fo' knowin bout Switchin Spells."

"Go away." 

"All right yo, but I warned you, you just remember what tha fuck I holla'd when you on tha train home tomorrow, you are --"

But what tha fuck they were, they didn't smoke up yo. Hermione had turned ta tha portrait of tha Fat Lady ta git back inside n' found her muthafuckin ass facin a empty painting. Da Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit n' Hermione was locked outta Gryffindor tower.

"Now what tha fuck is I goin ta do?" she axed shrilly.

"Thatz yo' problem," holla'd Ron. "We've gots ta go, we goin ta be late."

They hadn't even reached tha end of tha corridor when Hermione caught up wit dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

"I be comin wit you," her big-ass booty holla'd.

"Yo ass is not."

"D'you be thinkin I be goin ta stand up here n' wait fo' Filch ta catch me son biatch? If he findz all three of our asses I be bout ta tell his ass tha real deal, dat I was tryin ta stop you, n' you can back me up."

"You've gots some nerve --" holla'd Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you, nahmean?" holla'd Harry sharply. "I heard something."

Dat shiznit was a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathed Ron, squintin all up in tha dark.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris. Dat shiznit was Neville yo. Dude was curled up on tha floor, fast asleep yo, but jerked suddenly awake as they crept nearer.

"Thank goodnizz you found mah crazy ass biaaatch! I've been up here fo' hours, I couldn't remember tha freshly smoked up password ta git up in ta bed."

"Keep yo' voice down, Neville. Da passwordz 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, tha Fat Ladyz gone off somewhere."

"Howz yo' arm?" holla'd Harry.

"Fine," holla'd Neville, showin dem wild-ass muthafuckas. "Madam Pomfrey mended it up in a minute."

"Dope - well, look, Neville, we've gots ta be somewhere, we'll peep you lata --"

"Don't leave me!" holla'd Neville, scramblin ta his wild lil' feet, "I don't wanna stay here alone, tha Bloody Baronz been past twice already."

Ron looked at his thugged-out lil' peep n' then glared furiously at Hermione n' Neville.

"If either of y'all git our asses caught, I be bout ta never rest until I've hustled dat Curse of tha Bogies Quirrell holla'd at our asses about, n' used it on you, biatch.

Hermione opened her grill, like ta tell Ron exactly how tha fuck ta use tha Curse of tha Bogies yo, but Harry hissed at her ta be on tha down-low n' beckoned dem all forward.

They flitted along corridors striped wit barz of moonlight from tha high windows fo' realz. At every last muthafuckin turn Harry sposed ta fuckin run tha fuck into Filch or Mrs. Norris yo, but they was dirty. They sped up a staircase ta tha third floor n' tiptoed toward tha trophy room.

Malfoy n' Crabbe weren't there yet. Da crystal trophy cases glimmered where tha moonlight caught dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Cups, shields, plates, n' statues winked silver n' gold up in tha darkness. They edged along tha walls, keepin they eyes on tha doors at either end of tha room yo. Harry took up his wand up in case Malfoy leapt up in n' started at once. Da minutes crept by.

"Dat punk is late, maybe he chickened out," Ron whispered.

Then a noise up in tha next room made dem jump yo. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard one of mah thugs drop a rhyme -and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, mah dope, they might be lurkin up in a cold-ass lil corner."

Dat shiznit was Filch bustin lyrics ta Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly all up in tha other three ta follow his ass as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward tha door, away from Filchz voice. Nevillez robes had barely whipped round tha corner when they heard Filch enta tha trophy room.

"They're up in here somewhere," they heard his ass mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry grilled ta tha others and, petrified, they fuckin started ta creep down a long-ass gallery full of suitz of armor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They could hear Filch gettin nearer n' shit. Neville suddenly let up a gangbangin' frightened squeak n' broke tha fuck into a run -he tripped, grabbed Ron round tha waist, n' tha pair of dem toppled right tha fuck into a suit of armor.

Da clangin n' crashin was enough ta wake tha whole castle.

"Run!" Harry yelled, n' tha four of dem sprinted down tha gallery, not lookin back ta peep whether Filch was followin -- they swung round tha doorpost n' galloped down one corridor then another, Harry up in tha lead, without any scam where they was or where they was goin -- they ripped all up in a tapestry n' found theyselves up in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it n' came up near they Charms classroom, which they knew was milez from tha trophy room.

"I be thinkin we've lost him," Harry panted, leanin against tha cold wall n' wipin his wild lil' forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezin n' spluttering.

I -- holla'd at -you," Hermione gasped, clutchin all up in tha stitch up in her chest, "I -- holla'd at -- you, biatch."

"We've gots ta git back ta Gryffindor tower," holla'd Ron, "quickly as possible." be up in tha trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped his ass off."

Harry thought dat biiiiatch was probably right yo, but he wasn't goin ta tell her that.

"Letz go."

It wasn't goin ta be dat simple. They hadn't gone mo' than a thugged-out dozen paces when a thugged-out doorknob rattled n' suttin' came blastin outta a cold-ass lil classroom up in front of dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

Dat shiznit was Peeves yo. Dude caught sight of dem n' gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves -- please -- you gonna git our asses thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wanderin round at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you gonna git caughty."

"Not if you don't give our asses away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," holla'd Peeves up in a saintly voice, but his wild lil' fuckin eyes glittered wickedly. "It aint nuthin but fo' yo' own good, you know."

"Git outta tha way," snapped Ron, takin a swipe at Peeves dis was a funky-ass big-ass mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED HOMMIE! Peeves bellowed, "STUDENT OUTTA BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Duckin under Peeves, they ran fo' they lives, right ta tha end of tha corridor where they slammed tha fuck into a thugged-out door -- n' dat shiznit was locked.

"This is dat shiznit son!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly all up in tha door, "Us dudes done fo' playa! This is tha end!" They could hear footsteps, Filch hustlin as fast as his schmoooove ass could toward Peevess shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch grabbed Harryz wand, tapped tha lock, n' whispered, 'Alohomora!"

Da lock clicked n' tha door swung open -- they piled all up in it, shut it quickly, n' pressed they ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell mah dirty ass."

"Say 'please."'

"Don't mess wit me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say not a god damn thang if you don't say please," holla'd Peeves up in his thugged-out buggin singcold lil' woo wop voice.

"All right -please."

"Nothing! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say not a god damn thang if you didn't say please biaaatch! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard tha sound of Peeves whooshin away n' Filch cursin up in rage.

"Dude be thinkin dis door is locked," Harry whispered. "I be thinkin we'll be aiiight -- git off, Neville!" For Neville had been tuggin on tha sleeve of Harryz bathrobe fo' tha last minute. "What?"

Harry turned round -- n' saw, like clearly, what. For a moment, da thug was shizzle he'd strutted tha fuck into a nightmare -- dis was too much, on top of every last muthafuckin thang dat had happened so far.

They weren't up in a room, as dat schmoooove muthafucka had supposed. They was up in a cold-ass lil corridor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da forbidden corridor on tha third floor fo' realz. And now they knew why dat shiznit was forbidden.

They was lookin straight tha fuck into tha eyez of a monstrous dog, a thugged-out dawg dat filled tha whole space between ceilin n' floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Well shiiiit, it had three heads. Three pairz of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching

and quiverin up in they direction; three droolin grills, saliva hangin up in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

Dat shiznit was standin still, all six eyes starin at them, n' Harry knew dat tha only reason they weren't already dead was dat they sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but dat shiznit was quickly gettin over it, there was no mistakin what tha fuck dem thunderous growls meant.

Harry groped fo' tha doorknob -- between Filch n' dirtnap, he'd take Filch.

They fell tha fuck backward -- Harry slammed tha door shut, n' they ran, they almost flew, back down tha corridor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Filch must have hurried off ta look fo' dem somewhere else, cuz they didn't peep his ass anywhere, but they hardly cared -- all they wanted ta do was put as much space as possible between dem n' dat monsta n' shit. They didn't stop hustlin until they reached tha portrait of tha Fat Lady on tha seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, lookin at they bathrobes hangin off they shouldaz n' they flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind dat -- pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, n' tha portrait swung forward.They scrambled tha fuck into tha common room n' collapsed, trembling, tha fuck into armchairs.

Dat shiznit was a while before any of dem holla'd anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never drop a rhyme again.

"What do they be thinkin they bustin, keepin a thang like dat locked up in a school?" holla'd Ron finally. "If any dawg needz exercise, dat one do."

Hermione had gots both her breath n' her shitty temper back again. "Yo ass don't use yo' eyes, do you?" her big-ass booty snapped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Didn't you peep what tha fuck dat shiznit was standin on.

"Da floor?" Harry suggested. This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "I wasn't lookin at its feet, I was too busy wit its heads."

"Fuck dat shit, not tha floor. Dat shiznit was standin on a trapdoor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It aint nuthin but obviously guardin something."

Bitch stood up, glarin at dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

I hope you pleased wit yourselves. We could all done been capped -- or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I be goin ta bed."

Ron stared afta her, his crazy-ass grill open.

"Fuck dat shit, our phat asses don't mind," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd. "You'd be thinkin our phat asses dragged her along, wouldn't you, biatch.

But Hermione had given Harry suttin' else ta be thinkin bout as his schmoooove ass climbed back tha fuck into bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da dawg was guardin something.... What had Hagrid holla'd, biatch? Gringotts was tha safest place up in tha ghetto fo' suttin' you wanted ta hide -- except Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found up where tha grubby littie package from vault seven hundred n' thirteen was.


	10. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, however, stood ridin' solo by tha door, waitin fo' dem wild-ass muthafuckas. There was a straight-up embarrassed pause. Then, none of dem lookin at each other, they all holla'd "Thanks," n' hurried off ta git plates.  
> But from dat moment on, Hermione Granger became they playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. There is some thangs you can't share without endin up likin each other, n' knockin up a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

Malfoy couldn't believe his wild lil' fuckin eyes when tha muthafucka saw dat Harry n' Ron was still at Hogwarts tha next day, lookin chillaxed but perfectly cheerful naaahhmean, biatch? Indeed, by tha next mornin Harry n' Ron thought dat meetin tha three-headed dawg had been a pimpin adventure, n' they was like keen ta have another one. In tha meantime, Harry filled Ron in bout tha package dat seemed ta done been moved from Gringotts ta Hogwarts, n' they dropped a shitload of time wonderin what tha fuck could possibly need such heavy protection. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

  
"It aint nuthin but either straight-up valuable or straight-up dangerous," holla'd Ron.

  
"Or both," holla'd Harry. But as all they knew fo' shizzle bout tha mysterious object was dat, dat shiznit was bout two inches long, they didn't have much chizzle of guessin what tha fuck dat shiznit was without further clues.

  
Neither Neville nor Hermione flossed tha slightest interest up in what tha fuck lay underneath tha dawg n' tha trapdoor fo' realz. All Neville cared bout was never goin near tha dawg again. Hermione was now refusin ta drop a rhyme ta Harry n' Ron yo, but dat biiiiatch was such a funky-ass bossy know-it-all dat they saw dis as a added bonus fo' realz. All they straight-up wanted now was a way of gettin back at Malfoy, n' ta they pimped out delight, just such a thang arrived up in tha mail on some week later.  
As tha owls flooded tha fuck into tha Great Hall as usual, everyonez attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six big-ass screech owls. Harry was just as interested as any suckas ta peep what tha fuck was up in dis big-ass parcel, n' was amazed when tha owls soared down n' dropped it right up in front of him, knockin his bacon ta tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They had hardly fluttered outta tha way when another owl dropped a letta on top of tha parcel.  
Harry ripped open tha letta first, which was dirty, cuz it holla'd:

DO NOT OPEN THA PARCEL ALL UP IN THA TABLE

Well shiiiit, it gotz nuff yo' freshly smoked up Nimbus Two Thousand yo, but I don't want dem hoes knowin you've gots a funky-ass broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will hook up wit tonight on tha Quidditch field at seven o'clock fo' yo' first hustlin session. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.  
Pimp McGonagall

  
Harry had hang-up hidin his wild lil' freakadelic glee as dat schmoooove muthafucka handed tha note ta Ron ta read. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

  
They left tha hall quickly, wantin ta unwrap tha broomstick up in private before they first class yo, but halfway across tha entrizzle hall they found tha way upstairs barred by Crabbe n' Goyle. Malfoy seized tha package from Harry n' felt dat shit. "Thatz a funky-ass broomstick," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, throwin it back ta Harry wit a mixture of jealousy n' spite on his wild lil' face. "You'll be up in fo' it dis time, Potter, first muthafuckin years aren't allowed dem wild-ass muthafuckas."  
Ron couldn't resist dat shit. "It aint nuthin but not any oldschool broomstick," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd, "itz a Nimbus Two Thousand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What did you say you've gots at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?" Ron grinned at Harry. "Comets look flashy yo, but they not up in tha same league as tha Nimbus."  
"What would you know bout it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half tha handle," Malfoy snapped back. "I suppose you n' yo' brothers gotta save up twig by twig."  
Before Ron could answer, Pimp Flitwick rocked up at Malfoyz elbow. "Not jumpin off bout some shit, I hope, thugs?" da perved-out muthafucka squeaked.  
"Potterz been busted a funky-ass broomstick, Professor," holla'd Malfoy, doggystyle.  
"Yes, fo'sho, thatz right," holla'd Pimp Flitwick, beamin at Harry.

  
"Pimp McGonagall holla'd at mah crazy ass all bout tha special circumstances, Potter fo' realz. And what tha fuck model is it?"  
"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," holla'd Harry, fightin not ta laugh all up in tha look of horror on Malfoyz face. "And itz straight-up props ta Malfoy here dat I've gots it," he added.

  
Harry n' Ron headed upstairs, smotherin they laughta at Malfoyz obvious rage n' mad drama. "Well, itz true," Harry chortled as they reached tha top of tha marble staircase, "If dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn't jacked Nevillez Remembrall I wouln't be on tha crew...."  
"So I suppose you be thinkin thatz a reward fo' breakin rules?" came a mad salty voice from just behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas yo. Hermione was stompin up tha stairs, lookin disapprovingly all up in tha package up in Harryz hand.

  
"I thought you weren't bustin lyrics ta us?" holla'd Harry.

  
"Yes, don't stop now," holla'd Ron, "itz bustin our asses so much." Hermione marched away wit her nozzle up in tha air yo. Harry had a shitload of shiznit keepin his crazy-ass mind on his fuckin lessons dat day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Well shiiiit, it kept wanderin up ta tha dormitory where his freshly smoked up broomstick was lyin under his bed, or strayin off ta tha Quidditch field where he'd be peepin' ta play dat night. Dude bolted his fuckin lil' dinner dat evenin without noticin what tha fuck da thug was smokin, n' then rushed upstairs wit Ron ta unwrap tha Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

  
"Fuck dat shit," Ron sighed, as tha broomstick rolled onto Harryz bedspread. Even Harry, whoz ass knew not a gotdamn thang bout tha different brooms, thought it looked straight-up dope naaahhmean, biatch? Sleek n' shiny, wit a mahogany handle, it had a long-ass tail of neat, straight twigs n' Nimbus Two Thousand freestyled up in gold near tha top.

  
As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left tha castle n' set off up in tha dusk toward tha Quidditch field.Held never been inside tha dogg pound before yo. Hundredz of seats was raised up in standz round tha field so dat tha spectators was high enough ta peep what tha fuck was goin on. At either end of tha field was three golden polez wit hoops on tha end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. They reminded Harry of tha lil plastic sticks lil Muggle pimps blew bubblez through, except dat they was fifty feet high.  
Too eager ta fly ta wait fo' Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick n' kicked off from tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What a gangbangin' feelin -- da perved-out muthafucka swooped up in n' outta tha goal posts n' then sped up n' down tha field. Da Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever da thug wanted at his fuckin lightest touch.  
"Yo, Potter, come down!' Oliver Wood had arrived. He was carryin a big-ass wooden crate under his thugged-out arm yo. Harry landed next ta his muthafuckin ass. "Straight-up sick," holla'd Wood, his wild lil' fuckin eyes glinting. "I peep what tha fuck McGonagall meant... you straight-up is a natural. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. I just goin ta teachin you tha rulez dis evening, then you gonna be joinin crew practice three times a week." Dude opened tha crate. Inside was four different-sized balls.

  
"Right," holla'd Wood. I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! "Now, Quidditch is easy as fuck enough ta understand, even if it aint too easy as fuck ta play. There is seven playas on each side. Three of dem is called Chasers."

  
"Three Chasers," Harry repeated, as Wood took up a funky-ass bright red bizzle bout tha size of a soccer bizzle. Kick dat shit! "This ballz called tha Quaffle," holla'd Wood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! "Da Chasers throw tha Quaffle ta each other n' try n' git it all up in one of tha hoops ta score a goal. Ten points every last muthafuckin time tha Quaffle goes all up in one of tha hoops. Big up me son?"  
"Da Chasers throw tha Quaffle n' put it all up in tha hoops ta score," Harry recited. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. "So -- thatz sort of like basketbizzle on broomsticks wit six hoops, aint it?"

  
"Whatz basketball?" holla'd Wood curiously.

  
"Never mind," holla'd Harry doggystyle. "Now, there be a another playa on each side whoz called tha Keeper -I be Keeper fo' Gryffindor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I gotta fly round our hoops n' stop tha other crew from scoring."

  
"Three Chasers, one Keeper," holla'd Harry, whoz ass was determined ta remember it all. "And they fuck wit tha Quaffle. Okay, gots dis shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So what tha fuck is they for?" Dude pointed all up in tha three balls left inside tha box. "I be bout ta show you now," holla'd Wood. "Take this."

  
Dude handed Harry a lil' small-ass club, a lil' bit like a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass short basebizzle bat. "I be goin ta show you what tha fuck tha Bludgers do," Wood holla'd. "These two is tha Bludgers." Dude flossed Harry two identical balls, jet black n' slightly smalla than tha red Quaffle yo. Harry noticed dat they seemed ta be strainin ta escape tha straps holdin dem inside tha box. "Stand back," Wood warned Harry yo. Dude bent down n' freed one of tha Bludgers.

  
At once, tha black bizzle rose high up in tha air n' then pelted straight at Harryz grill. Harry swung at it wit tha bat ta stop it from breakin his nose, n' busted it zigzaggin away tha fuck into tha air -- it zoomed round they headz n' then blasted at Wood, whoz ass dived on top of it n' managed ta pin it ta tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!  
"See?" Wood panted, forcin tha strugglin Bludger back tha fuck into tha crate n' strappin it down safely. "Da Bludgers rocket around, tryin ta knock playas off they brooms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Thatz why you have two Beatas on each crew -- tha Weasley twins is ours -- itz they thang ta protect they side from tha Bludgers n' try n' knock dem toward tha other crew. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So you be thinkin you've gots all that?"

  
"Three Chasers try n' score wit tha Quaffle; tha Keeper guardz tha goal posts; tha Beatas keep tha Bludgers away from they crew," Harry reeled off.  
"Straight-up," holla'd Wood.

  
"Er -- have tha Bludgers eva capped any playas?" Harry asked, hopin da perved-out muthafucka sounded offhand.

  
"Never at Hogwarts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. We've had a coupla fucked up jaws but not a god damn thang worse than dat shit. Now, tha last gangmember of tha crew is tha Seeker n' shit. Thatz you, biatch fo' realz. And you don't gotta worry bout tha Quaffle or tha Bludgers ."

  
"Unless they crack mah head open."

  
"Don't worry, tha Weasleys is mo' than a match fo' tha Bludgers -- I mean, they like a pair of human Bludgers theyselves." Wood reached tha fuck into tha crate n' took up tha fourth n' last ball.

  
Compared wit tha Quaffle n' tha Bludgers, dat shiznit was tiny, bout tha size of a big-ass walnut. Dat shiznit was bright gold n' had lil flutterin silver wings.  
"This," holla'd Wood, "is tha Golden Snitch, n' itz da most thugged-out blingin bizzle of tha lot. It aint nuthin but straight-up hard ta catch cuz itz so fast n' hard as fuck ta see. It aint nuthin but tha Seekerz thang ta catch dat shit. You've gots ta weave up in n' outta tha Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, n' Quaffle ta git it before tha other crewz Seeker, cuz whichever Seeker catches tha Snitch wins his cold-ass crew a extra hundred n' fifty points, so they nearly always win. Thatz why Seekers git fouled all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! A game of Quidditch only endz when tha Snitch is caught, so it can go on fo' ages -- I be thinkin tha record is three months, they had ta keep brangin on substitutes so tha playas could git some chill. "Well, thatz it -- any thangs?"

  
Harry shook his head. Dude understood what tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta do all right, dat shiznit was bustin it dat was goin ta be tha problem. "Us thugs won't practice wit tha Snitch yet," holla'd Wood, carefully shuttin it back inside tha crate, "itz too dark, we might lose dat shit. Letz try you up wit all of these." Dude pulled a ounce ta tha bounce of ordinary golf balls outta his thugged-out lil' pocket n' all dem minutes later, he n' Harry was up in tha air, Wood throwin tha golf balls as hard as his schmoooove ass could up in every last muthafuckin direction fo' Harry ta catch.

  
Harry didn't miss a single one, n' Wood was delighted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Afta half a hour, night had straight-up fallen n' they couldn't carry on. "That Quidditch cup'll have our name on it dis year," holla'd Wood happily as they trudged back up ta tha castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn up betta than Charlie Weasley, n' his schmoooove ass could have played fo' England if dat muthafucka hadn't gone off chasin dragons."

  
Perhaps dat shiznit was cuz da thug was now so busy, what tha fuck wit Quidditch practice three evenings a week on top of all his homework yo, but Harry could hardly believe it when he realized dat he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. Da castle felt mo' like home than Privet Drive eva had. His lessons, too, was becomin mo' n' mo' bangin-ass now dat they had mastered tha basics.

  
On Halloween mornin they woke ta tha delicious smell of bakin pumpkin waftin all up in tha corridors. Even better, Pimp Flitwick announced up in Charms dat tha pimpin' muthafucka thought they was locked n loaded ta start makin objects fly, suttin' they had all been dyin ta try since they'd peeped his ass make Nevillez toad zoom round tha classroom. Pimp Flitwick put tha class tha fuck into pairs ta practice. Harryz partner was Seamus Finnigan (which was a relief, cuz Neville had been tryin ta catch his wild fuckin eye). Ron, however, was ta be hustlin wit Hermione Granger n' shit. Dat shiznit was hard ta tell whether Ron or Hermione was angrier bout all dis bullshit. Biatch hadn't spoken ta either of dem since tha dizzle Harryz broomstick had arrived.

  
"Now, don't forget dat sick wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Pimp Flitwick, perched on top of his thugged-out lil' pile of books as usual. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. "Swish n' flick, remember, swish n' flick fo' realz. And sayin tha magic lyrics properly is straight-up blingin, too -- never forget Wizard Baruffio, whoz ass holla'd 's' instead of 'f' n' found his dirty ass on tha floor wit a funky-ass buffalo on his chest." Dat shiznit was straight-up hard as fuck yo. Harry n' Seamus swished n' flicked yo, but tha feather they was supposed ta be bustin skyward just lay on tha desktop. Seamus gots so impatient dat he prodded it wit his wand n' set fire ta it -- Harry had ta put it out wit his hat.

 

Ron, all up in tha next table, wasn't havin much mo' luck. "Wingardium Leviosa!" da perved-out muthafucka shouted, wavin his fuckin long arms like a windmill.

  
"Yo ass is sayin it wrong," Harry heard Hermione snap. "It aint nuthin but Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make tha 'gar' sick n' long."

  
"Yo ass do it, then, if you so def," Ron snarled.

  
Hermione rolled up tha sleevez of her gown, flicked her wand, n' holla'd, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Their feather rose off tha desk n' hovered bout four feet above they heads.  
"Oh, well done!" cried Pimp Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone peep here, Miss Grangerz done dat shiznit son!"

  
Ron was up in a straight-up shitty vibe by tha end of tha class. "It aint nuthin but no wonder no one can stand her," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd ta Harry as they pushed they way tha fuck into tha crowded corridor, "shez a nightmare, straight-up. "

  
Someone knocked tha fuck into Harry as they hurried past his muthafuckin ass. Dat shiznit was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her grill n' was startled ta peep dat dat biiiiatch was up in tears.

  
"I be thinkin dat freaky freaky biatch heard you, ya biatch."  
"So?" holla'd Ron yo, but he looked a lil' bit uncomfortable. "Bitch must've noticed she gots no playas." Hermione didn't turn up fo' tha next class n' wasn't peeped all afternoon. On they way down ta tha Great Hall fo' tha Halloween feast, Harry n' Ron overheard Parvati Patil spittin some lyrics ta her playa Lavender dat Hermione was bustin up like a biatch up in tha girls' bathroom n' wanted ta be left ridin' solo.

  
Ron looked still mo' awkward at dis yo, but a moment lata they had entered tha Great Hall, where tha Halloween decorations put Hermione outta they minds.  
A thousand live bats fluttered from tha walls n' ceilin while a thousand mo' swooped over tha tablez up in low black clouds, makin tha candlez up in tha pumpkins stutter n' shit. Da feast rocked up suddenly on tha golden plates, as it had all up in tha start-of-term banquet.

  
Harry was just helpin his dirty ass ta a funky-ass baked potato when Pimp Quirrell came sprintin tha fuck into tha hall, his cold-ass turban askew n' terror on his wild lil' face. Everyone stared as he reached Pimp Dumbledorez chair, slumped against tha table, n' gasped, "Troll -- up in tha dungeons -- thought you ought ta know."  
Dude then sank ta tha floor up in a thugged-out dead faint. There was a uproar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Well shiiiit, it took nuff muthafuckin purple firecrackers explodin from tha end of Pimp Dumbledorez wand ta brang silence "Prefects," he rumbled, "lead yo' Houses back ta tha dormitories immediately!"

  
Percy was up in his wild lil' fuckin element. "Big up me biaaatch! Stick together, first years muthafucka! No need ta fear tha troll if you follow mah orders muthafucka! Stay close behind me, now, nahmeean, biatch? Make way, first muthafuckin years comin through! Excuse me, I be a prefect!"

  
"How tha fuck could a troll git in?" Harry axed as they climbed tha stairs.

  
"Don't ask me, they supposed ta be straight-up stupid," holla'd Ron. "Maybe Peeves let it up in fo' a Halloween joke." They passed different crewz of playas hurryin up in different directions.

  
As they jostled they way all up in a cold-ass lil crowd of trippin Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ronz arm.

  
"I've just thought- Hermione."

  
"What bout her?"

  
"Bitch don't give a fuck bout tha troll." Ron bit his fuckin lip.

  
"Oh, all right," da perved-out muthafucka snapped. "But Percy'd betta not peep us." Duckin down, they joined tha Hufflepuffs goin tha other way, slipped down a thugged-out deserted side corridor, n' hurried off toward tha girls' bathroom. They had just turned tha corner when they heard quick footsteps behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas.  
"Percy!" hissed Ron, pullin Harry behind a big-ass stone griffin. Peerin round it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape yo. Dude crossed tha corridor n' disappeared from view.  
"Whatz da ruffneck bustin?" Harry whispered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Why aint da ruffneck all up in tha dungeons wit tha rest of tha mackdaddys?"  
"Search mah dirty ass."

  
Quietly as possible, they crept along tha next corridor afta Snapez fadin footsteps.  
"Dat punk headin fo' tha third floor," Harry holla'd, but Ron held up his hand.  
"Yo ass betta smell something."

  
Harry sniffed n' a gangbangin' foul stench reached his nostrils, a mixture of oldschool socks n' tha kind of hood toilet no one seems ta clean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And then they heard it -- a low grunting, n' tha shufflin footfallz of gigantic Nikes. Ron pointed -- all up in tha end of a passage ta tha left, suttin' big-ass was movin toward dem wild-ass muthafuckas. They shrank tha fuck into tha shadows n' peeped it as it emerged tha fuck into a patch of moonlight.

  
Dat shiznit was a wack sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a thugged-out dull, granite gray, its pimped out lumpy body like a funky-ass boulder wit its lil' small-ass bald head perched on top like a cold-ass lil coconut. Well shiiiit, it had short hairy-ass legs thick as tree trunks wit flat, horny Nikes. Da smell comin from dat shiznit was incredible. Dat shiznit was holdin a big-ass wooden club, which dragged along tha floor cuz its arms was so long.

  
Da troll stopped next ta a thugged-out doorway n' peered inside. Well shiiiit, it waggled its long ears, makin up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly tha fuck into tha room. "Da keys up in tha lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

  
"Dope idea," holla'd Ron nervously. They edged toward tha open door, grills dry, prayin tha troll wasn't bout ta come outta dat shit. With one pimped out leap, Harry managed ta grab tha key, slam tha door, n' lock dat shit. "Yes!"

  
Flushed wit they victory, they started ta run back up tha passage, but as they reached tha corner they heard suttin' dat made they hearts stop -- a high, petrified scream -- n' dat shiznit was comin from tha chamber they'd just chained up.

  
"Oh, no," holla'd Ron, pale as tha Bloody Baron.

 

"It aint nuthin but tha girls' bathroom!" Harry gasped.

  
"Hermione!" they holla'd together n' shit. Dat shiznit was tha last thang they wanted ta do, but what tha fuck chizzle did they have, biatch? Wheelin around, they sprinted back ta tha door n' turned tha key, fumblin up in they panic yo. Harry pulled tha door open n' they ran inside yo. Hermione Granger was shrinkin against tha wall opposite, lookin as if dat biiiiatch was bout ta faint. Da troll was advancin on her, knockin tha sinks off tha walls as it went.

  
"Confuse dat shiznit son!" Harry holla'd desperately ta Ron, and, seizin a tap, tha pimpin' muthafucka threw it as hard as his schmoooove ass could against tha wall. Da troll stopped all dem feet from Hermione. Well shiiiit, it lumbered around, blinkin stupidly, ta peep what tha fuck had made tha noise. Its mean lil eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made fo' his ass instead, liftin its club as it went.

  
"Oy, pea-dome!" yelled Ron from tha other side of tha chamber, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka threw a metal pipe at dat shit. Da troll didn't even seem ta notice tha pipe hittin its shoulder yo, but it heard tha yell n' paused again, turnin its skanky snout toward Ron instead, givin Harry time ta run round dat shit.  
"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, tryin ta pull her toward tha door yo, but dat thugged-out biiiatch couldn't move, dat biiiiatch was still flat against tha wall, her grill open wit terror. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da shoutin n' tha echoes seemed ta be rollin tha troll berserk. It roared again n' again n' again n' started toward Ron, whoz ass was nearest n' had no way ta escape.

  
Harry then did suttin' dat was both straight-up brave n' straight-up stupid: Dude took a pimped out hustlin jump n' managed ta fasten his thugged-out arms round tha trollz neck from behind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da troll couldn't feel Harry hangin there yo, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long-ass bit of wood up its nose, n' Harryz wand had still been up in his hand when he'd jumped -- it had gone straight up one of tha trollz nostrils yo. Howlin wit pain, tha troll twisted n' flailed its club, wit Harry clingin on fo' dear game; any second, tha troll was goin ta rip his ass off or catch his ass a shitty blow wit tha club.

  
Hermione had sunk ta tha floor up in fright; Ron pulled up his own wand -- not knowin what tha fuck da thug was goin ta do dat schmoooove muthafucka heard his dirty ass cry tha straight-up original gangsta spell dat came tha fuck into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!" Da club flew suddenly outta tha trollz hand, rose high, high up tha fuck into tha air, turned slowly over -- n' dropped, wit a sickenin crack, onto its ballerz head.

  
Da troll swayed on tha spot n' then fell tha fuck flat on its face, wit a thud dat made tha whole room tremble yo. Harry gots ta his Nikes. Dude was bobbin n' outta breath. Ron was standin there wit his wand still raised, starin at what tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka had done. Dat shiznit was Hermione whoz ass was rappin first.  
"Is it -- dead?"

  
"I don't be thinkin so," holla'd Harry, I be thinkin itz just been knocked out." Dude bent down n' pulled his wand outta tha trollz nose. Dat shiznit was covered up in what tha fuck looked like lumpy gray glue. "Urgh -- troll boogers." Dude wiped it on tha trollz trousers.

  
A sudden slammin n' bangin footsteps made tha three of dem look up. They hadn't realized what tha fuck a racket they had been makin yo, but of course, one of mah thugs downstairs must have heard tha crashes n' tha trollz roars fo' realz. A moment later, Pimp McGonagall had come burstin tha fuck into tha room, closely followed by Snape, wit Quirrell brangin up tha rear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Quirrell took one peep tha troll, let up a gangbangin' faint whimper, n' sat quickly down on a toilet, clutchin his thugged-out ass.

  
Snape bent over tha troll. Pimp McGonagall was lookin at Ron n' Harry yo. Harry had never peeped lookin so mad salty yo. Her lips was white yo. Hopez of ballin fifty points fo' Gryffindor faded quickly from Harryz mind.

  
"What on earth was you thankin of?" holla'd Pimp McGonagall, wit cold fury up in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, whoz ass was still standin wit his wand up in tha air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Yo ass is lucky you ain't capped. Why ain't you up in yo' dormitory?"  
Snape gave Harry a swift, piercin look. Harry looked all up in tha floor bruh. Dude wished Ron would put his wand down. Then a lil' small-ass voice came outta tha shadows. "Please, Pimp McGonagall -- they was lookin fo' mah dirty ass."

  
"Miss Granger!" Hermione had managed ta git ta her feet at last.

  
I went lookin fo' tha troll cuz I -- I thought I could deal wit it on mah own -- you know, cuz I've read all bout dem wild-ass muthafuckas." Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, spittin some lyrics, thugged-out downright lie ta a mackdaddy, biatch?

  
"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now yo. Harry stuck his wand up its nozzle n' Ron knocked it up wit its own club. They didn't have time ta come n' fetch mah playas. Dat shiznit was bout ta finish me off when they arrived."

  
Harry n' Ron tried ta look as though dis rap wasn't freshly smoked up ta dem wild-ass muthafuckas. "Well -- up in dat case..." holla'd Pimp McGonagall, starin all up in tha three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how tha fuck could you be thinkin of tacklin a mountain troll on yo' own?"  
Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was tha last thug ta do anythang against tha rules, n' here dat biiiiatch was, pretendin dat freaky freaky biatch had, ta git dem outta shit. Dat shiznit was as if Snape had started handin up dopes.

  
"Miss Granger, five points is ghon be taken from Gryffindor fo' this," holla'd Pimp McGonagall. "I be straight-up pissed tha fuck off up in you, biatch. If you not hurt at all, you'd betta git off ta Gryffindor tower n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Students is finishin tha feast up in they houses." Hermione left.

  
Pimp McGonagall turned ta Harry n' Ron. "Well, I still say you was dirty, but not nuff first muthafuckin years could have taken on a gangbangin' full-grown mountain troll. Yo ass each win Gryffindor five points, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Pimp Dumbledore is ghon be informed of all dis bullshit. Yo ass may go." They hurried outta tha chamber n' didn't drop a rhyme at all until they had climbed two floors up. Dat shiznit was a relief ta be away from tha smell of tha troll, like apart from anythang else.  
"We should have gotten mo' than ten points," Ron grumbled.

  
"Five, you mean, once dat dunkadelic hoe taken off Hermione's."

  
"Dope of her ta git our asses outta shiznit like that," Ron admitted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Mind you, our phat asses did save her muthafuckin ass."  
"Bitch might not have needed savin if our crazy asses hadn't locked tha thang up in wit her," Harry reminded this muthafucka. They had reached tha portrait of tha Fat Lady.  
"Pig snout," they holla'd n' entered.

  
Da common room was packed n' noisy. Everyone was smokin tha chicken dat had been busted up yo. Hermione, however, stood ridin' solo by tha door, waitin fo' dem wild-ass muthafuckas. There was a straight-up embarrassed pause. Then, none of dem lookin at each other, they all holla'd "Thanks," n' hurried off ta git plates.  
But from dat moment on, Hermione Granger became they playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. There is some thangs you can't share without endin up likin each other, n' knockin up a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your favorite part and whether or not you'd like to see more of this story!  
> Also, let me know what you think this story should be rated because I have no clue.


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